


No Code

by Lunatik_Pandora



Series: A Different Orbit [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bonding over music, Child Abuse, Everyone's a bit of a mess including Ginny but it's fine it's totally fine, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Child Abuse, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Poetry, Welsh Remus Lupin, What Even Is Parenting, big dad energy, hogsmeade dates are overrated, music is therapy and Remus will fight you over it, music references, music-obsessed Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:05:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunatik_Pandora/pseuds/Lunatik_Pandora
Summary: A series of snapshots into the Black-Lupin-Potter household. Life, one day at a time.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Series: A Different Orbit [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632550
Comments: 69
Kudos: 50





	1. Elbow Grease

“Pass the spanner, would you?”

“Here.”

“Cheers.”

Sirius worked on tightening the bolt, sweat beading on his forehead, mixing with the dirt and motor oil he had smeared all over himself; motorcycle maintenance was dirty work, and the bike had been unfortunately poorly kept during his incarceration. Harry sat beside him in the dirt, in a similar state of dishevelment, watching proceedings with interest. It was nice, honestly, despite the blazing heat and _this stupid bloody fucking piece of shite bolt_ \--

“Fuck, finally, got it. Stupid bugger. How's lessons been going with Remus?”

“Frustrating, but I think I'm getting the hang of it.”

“He told me he was going to start you on no English in the house tonight. I commiserate, truly. He pulled the same on me when we moved in together. But I've got to tell you, there's no quicker way to learn.”

“Yeah?”

“For sure. And soon enough you'll be able to catch him out when he only half-translates what he's saying.” Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“Has he really?”

“Somewhat. He's giving you a sort of ‘yadda yadda’ rendition, giving you just the meat of what he's saying but leaving out the real juicy bits.”

“So you mean I might finally figure out what a mob is?”

“Mab?”

“That's the one.”

“Ahhh, I'll just give you that one. Serves him right for being a dodgy bastard about it. It means son.”

“...Oh... Why would he leave that out?”

“Because he's an idiot.” At Harry's unimpressed look, he sighed, amending: “Alright, not an idiot… just, well… shy, if you can believe that. He's always been very slow to express his emotions in English; hides behind the Welsh so he can say what he really feels without anyone being the wiser. Some of which is very rude, depending on the subject, but other times… he's really got a way with words. Like a bloody poet sometimes, you know? But somewhere along the way he lost a lot of that confidence he used to have.”

“In the eighties, you mean.”

“Probably, yeah. But even before that, he didn't exactly have the best upbringing. He got on fine with his mum, but she was muggle, and half-terrified of him, what with his monthlies. And his relationship with his father could be best described as… fraught.”

He wiped his hands off on a rag, frowning. Fraught was an understatement. Remus hadn't actually had any contact with his father whatsoever after his mother's death in ‘81, and seemed perfectly content with keeping it that way. By all accounts, Lyall still worked with the Spirits Division at the Ministry, but preferred to not acknowledge the existence of his only son.

They had never once come to blows, so far as he was aware, but their last conversation had been…

_“You as good as killed her yourself when you didn't have the sense to die when that monster attacked you!”_

_“Then maybe you should have just let me instead of fighting him off! But you didn't think about that, did'ya now? You never fucking think!”_

It had been a very near thing, though, and he'd had to physically drag Remus, screaming, from the house. They'd both gotten roaring drunk that night, chucking the empty bottles into the walls of their flat and bellowing along to The Ramones. Woke up the following morning to a horrid mess and an even worse hangover, but Remus had been a bit more himself then. But there'd been that undercurrent afterwards of something dark in him that Sirius couldn't put his finger on at the time. An uncertainty developed between them… one which Peter had seen, and exploited.

It had been nothing in the end. Just brooding. _I was such an idiot_.

“So,” Harry began, interrupting him from his thoughts. “Are you going to be speaking Welsh in the house too?”

“Efallai.”

“Damn.”

“It'll do you some good, trust me. You will thank him later.”

“Oh of course, I'll be walking around not knowing the fuck is on half the time but still saying ‘thank you, sir, may I have another?’” Sirius choked.

“Please for the love of Merlin don't ever say that to him.”

“What? Why?”

“Just… do not. For the sake of Remus’ blood pressure.”

“Is it really that big of a deal? I remember he had a thing about it third year also, but--”

“Fuck I actually forgot about that! Ohhhh, that's too fucking good. He must have been going spare!”

“Why does he not like being called sir that much?”

“Erm… no, you've got it backwards.”

“I have?... Wait, you're saying he _likes_ being called sir? But then… hang on.”

“Don't think about it too hard, mate, you'll hurt yourself.”

“... _No_. Fuck no, really? Oh my God. Eugh, please Obliviate me, I want to unthink that entire thought process.”

“Nope; better you know so we can avoid awkwardness.”

“What about _my_ awkwardness? I have to _know_ that about him now.” Sirius threw his head back with a wicked laugh.

“Oh, pup, there are some things I could tell you. Maybe when you're older.”

“Brilliant,” Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I can’t wait. When's 'older'? So I can be nowhere near this conversation?”

Sirius’ smile grew a little wistful.

“Maybe when you're thirty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Harry.
> 
> Welsh translation: "Maybe."
> 
> Also for anyone that actually read the smutty prequel (Moon) that started off this whole ride, I snuck a reference in here and went and made myself real sad about it. But for those who didn't, it's a throwback to a conversation they had with James:
> 
> \----  
> "...I'll tell you when you're older."
> 
> "OK.... I'm older now."
> 
> "Don't."
> 
> "Well you didn't specify how much older I needed to be!"
> 
> "Fuckin' hell, James, not before sunrise."
> 
> "State your intentions clearly, sir!"
> 
> "I dunno. Like... when we're thirty."
> 
> "Thirty? That's _ancient_."
> 
> "Yeah, well, that's when I'll tell you."
> 
> "Hmm... so long as you promise."
> 
> "Of course."
> 
> "Swear it?"
> 
> "Marauder's honor."  
> \-----
> 
> Another portion of this same conversation is also referenced in "Pray".


	2. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment, directly after the events of Pray.

It was still dark when Sirius woke, curled up into Harry’s side; the boy had his face buried in the fur on the back of his neck, arms wrapped around him like a stuffed toy. Just like how he used to when he was small, he realized with a pang, though obviously with significantly less leg.

_I used to be able to hold you in one arm, and now you’re almost as tall as me. You probably would have been taller than James, if…_

He could feel his hackles rising at the memory, a growl rumbling in his chest. He felt Harry shift, sniffing a bit, before--

“...Hey. You sleep here?” He got up, shifting back and sitting on the side of the bed, as Harry rolled over onto his back and rubbed at his eyes.

“Just for a bit, yeah,” he tried to ignore how rough his voice was. “Was having trouble sleeping, and then Dora came home, and… then I came to check on you.”

“They kicked you out?” Sirius laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, kicked myself out. Wasn’t very good company last night, frankly, and Remus…” he trailed off with a sigh. Harry shifted under the covers, his expression concerned.

“Look, you guys don’t need to worry about me, I’m--”

“Harry, if you say you’re fine, I might scream. And it’s very bloody early in the morning, no one wants that.” He paused to make sure the boy had taken his threat seriously. _As he should; I wasn’t bluffing_. “This may come as a surprise to you, but literally no one in this house can be categorized as ‘fine’. I’m not fine, Remus isn’t fine, Dora’s not fine. _You_ are not fine. But that’s okay. We’re all working on getting somewhere approaching fine, eventually. We’re all managing, taking it day by day. So don’t think you’re being a burden on us.”

“Even if it interrupts your very interesting, erm, love life?”

“Alright, first of all, let’s say the word together: _sex_. My very interesting _sex_ life. Which I’ll have you know is actually far less _interesting_ than it used to be. Why, Moony and I have veritably settled into a life of domesticity! My teenage self would be appalled. Remus gardens, Harry. _Gardens_.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“How very sad for you, Sirius.”

“Ahh, it’s not as bad as I make it out to be. And anyway, you didn’t interrupt anything. Remus and I were creating a feedback loop of panic attacks, wherein I started having one, which sent _him_ into one, and then, well… it just kind of spiraled out of control from there. Not exactly ideal conditions for a shag, yeah?”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t be. We’re all going to keep poking at old wounds, I’m sure; making sure they all heal up right. Your dad was always on about that, you know. ‘Don’t bottle shite up,’ he’d tell us, and he’d wait until you came to talk to him about things, but you _knew_ he knew, and that he was waiting, and that made it bloody unbearable. But then he married your mum who was a world-class brooder. Unstoppable force met the immovable object on that one. When your mum had decided to be in a strop, she’d damn well _be_ in a strop, and you nor Merlin himself were going to dissuade her until she was good and finished. But he tried, he did. Barmy, the both of them.” He sighed and leaned back a bit on his hands.

“Point is, Harry, whatever happened in the past is in the past. We can’t do anything to change it now, just have to work with whatever’s left. All that _you_ can do, sir, is let one of us know if you’re starting to feel like that again. Especially Remus or I; we’ve been there, alright?” Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

“You tried too?”

“Yeah. Drowning yourself doesn’t leave scars though. Least none you can see. Your dad was so freaked out he couldn’t speak properly, just sort of half-screamed unintelligibly and then broke my nose; Remus fixed it, but none too gently. _He_ didn’t yell at me, he just looked a little scared and disappointed, and his mouth did that thing where it looks like he’s chewing a lemon. That was somehow worse than James panic-punching me in the face.” Harry was quiet for a moment.

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen. It was right after the Snape incident. Remus still wasn’t talking to me at that point, and I knew I deserved it. I still have my issues with Snape, but… I didn’t think about consequences. I could have killed him. _Remus_ could have killed him. _I_ could have killed _Remus_.” He swallowed hard, remembering how absolutely shattered Remus had been.

_“Do you know what they do to things like me that attack people, Sirius? Do you?”_

_“You’re not a thing--”_

_“Tell me now, then why’d you use me like a fucking weapon? Why would you do that to me?”_

He remembered the way Remus’ voice had broken then, the way the tears rolled down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw. The way his chest had _ached_ at the sight. The sting in his scalp from when Remus had thrown him into the wall. He wondered absently if _that_ had left a scar. He had never checked; the memory, the guilt was often more than enough.

_“Rwy'n dymuno na fyddwn erioed wedi cwrdd â chi.”_

_I wish I had never met you._

A warm hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled around to see that he had likewise startled Harry, who was now sitting up, his hand pulled back to his chest like it had been burned.

“Sorry. You, erm… looked like you were getting a little lost, so…” _Of course… that was him. I’m an idiot._

“Thanks kiddo. I was.”

“Do you get stuck in your head a lot since Azkaban?” He suppressed the involuntary shiver at the name of _that place_.

“More than I used to. Ironic, since I used to hear I never think… and now I think too much.” Harry cracked a smile at that. Then, all of a sudden, he scooted forward, and with halting, unsure movements, pulled Sirius into a hug. He racked his brain for a moment, trying to remember if he had ever seen Harry initiate contact like this, and coming up blank. _This is… huge._

“I can’t promise I’m not going to get hurt sometimes. I attract trouble. But I promise not to be reckless, and to not hurt myself on purpose. And... I promise to talk to you and Remus if I’m having a hard time. Okay?” He desperately wanted to believe him… so he decided.

“Alright. We’ll be holding you to that, you know. Marauder’s honor.”

“I can live with that.” He pulled back. “Now, I’m going to try and get another nap in before I have to get up. You should go back to your room and do the same. I’ll be alright here,” he added, seeing his face.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. Go do… I dunno… whatever you do in there.” He blushed. “Not _that_ though. Or do, I mean, I’m not going to judge, I just don’t want to know, really. Like, details or--” Sirius ruffled his hair and got up off the bed.

“You are way too easy, mate. Alright, I can take a hint. I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah. Night Pads.”

“Night Harry.”

Sirius crept back down the hallway to the bedroom he shared with Remus and Dora, doing his best not to wake them as he entered. The sun was just starting to come up, illuminating the two figures entwined on the bed. Dora’s hair was fanned out across the pillow in a halo of soft curls, the light picking up highlights of color: she reminded him of the sun shining through cut glass, throwing rainbows around the room. Remus was spooned against her back, one hand thrown over her bare hip, the other resting against the pillow, just above his head. They were beautiful.

“Quit starin’ an’ dewch i’r gwely,” Remus mumbled sleepily.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Not disturbin’. Missed you. C’mere.” He reached behind himself to pat the spot on the bed beside him. Sirius stepped out of his pants and slid into bed, tucking himself against Remus’s back.

“Oh, look at you, letting me be the big spoon. That’s growth, that is.”

“S’too early for cheek, cariad.”

“What was it you used to tell James? ‘Never too early for cheek?’”

“Past-Remus was twpsin. Sleep’s better.” Sirius kissed his shoulder, knowing Remus would be feeling him smile against his skin. “Harry’s okay?”

“Slept fine. Woke up a bit as I was leaving, so we chatted a bit. He hugged me, and then kicked me out.” Remus rolled over to look at him, incredulity breaking through his tiredness.

“ _Harry_ did? _Our_ Harry?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Well… that's good then.” His gaze suddenly sharpened, falling on Sirius. “Are _you_ alright?”

He smiled at him, kissing Remus on the nose.

“I'll be okay.” A smaller, feminine hand reached across Remus to stroke his cheek.

“Good boy.”

“Am I now?” Remus rolled his eyes, wrapping an arm around each of them, pulling them both to his chest.

“Are we not having a lie in now?”

“We can go back to sleep after.”

“Dora, you know as well as I do that you're always keyed up after. Took you forever to fall asleep last night.” Sirius’ eyebrows flew into his hairline.

“Hold the floo… Remus, did you let Dora top you last night?”

“...I am not under any obligation to answer that.”

“Except you love me and we promised not to keep things from each other anymore, so spill. I want to hear this.”

“Sirius, don't nag him about it, alright? Let's just lie down and have a cuddle for now, and I can show you later. How does that sound, Mr Black?”

“Sounds like you have a deal, Miss Tonks.”

“Excellent. Mr Lupin, the floor is yours.”

“Thank you. Now hush, both of you.”

Sirius lay there, nestled into Remus’ chest, listening to his heart beat and stroking Dora's arm as she in turn ran her fingers through his hair. The birds outside were just starting to wake. It was peaceful.

He wished that they could stay just like this, always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh translations:  
> come to bed  
> love  
> stupid/a fool


	3. Berlin, 3 Nov 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Sirius work on Harry's musical education.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mainly to tie in my musical inspiration and work on some character building.
> 
> If you care to listen in on the show: Pearl Jam - Berlin - 3 Nov 1996. It's available on Youtube. Audio is decent, video... is video. Not one of their best shows, admittedly (and it ain't Pinkpop '93), but it was far from their worst, and it fit.

“Oi, where you going?”

“Remus and Sirius are taking me home for a few days, given its Halloween and all.”

“We don't get off for Halloween.”

“No, but they're taking me to visit my parents, and I've not been before, so…”

“Oh. Right. Sorry, Harry. I forgot.”

“S'alright, most people do.” He fidgeted with his socks for a moment before chucking them into his bag. “It's not all depressing, though. Apparently they're also going to take me to Berlin for something this weekend.”

“Wow, really? Why?”

“They didn't really say; Remus just said it was going to be an experience.”

\-------

Harry looked up at the stage, captivated by the violet stage lights, and the deep, rhythmic tones of the opening song.

“They’re just warming up,” he felt, rather than heard, Remus rumble behind him. And indeed, the following song was harder, faster; the vocals careening into screams and growls. He could hear Remus bellowing along to the lyrics, Sirius joining in to roar “Shed my skin at last!” But it didn’t really get wild until the third song, where the crowd suddenly exploded. He saw people flying in the air, screaming, and thought -- inexplicably -- that there was an attack, but no.

“You want to move up? The pit’s half the fun.” He hesitated, watching the flying fists and bodies, and thought -- _do I want that?_ The music was awakening something in him, however, unravelling the deep-seated frustration, the _aggression_ , that had been steadily growing inside him for years. He looked Remus in the eye and nodded, and they pulled him in.

It was chaotic, and claustrophobic; he pushed back against someone that bumped into him; inexplicably, that seemed to be the _correct_ response, as he saw Sirius smile at him approvingly and slam his own shoulder into a neighboring audience member. So… he kept pushing, kept moving. It felt amazing.

The band continued setting a blistering pace into the fourth song, the frontman practically vibrating with energy, the guitarists flinging themselves around the stage with abandon. _I could only be as good as you let me_. Fuck, the lyrics were striking a chord, the bass and drums pulsing in his chest. After a brief pause to thank the crowd (and let them catch their breath) they slammed into the fifth -- the guitars rattling off like machine guns, the vocalist screaming -- and Remus lost his fucking mind, jumping into Sirius and shaking his shoulders excitedly. _He loves this song_. He couldn’t help but jump around like a madman himself; the energy was infectious. He didn’t really recognize any of the songs until the seventh -- or at least it felt like he did. 

_The waiting drove me mad  
You’re finally here and I’m a mess  
I take your entrance back  
Can’t let you roam inside my head  
I don’t want to take what you can give  
I would rather starve than eat your bread  
I would rather run but I can’t walk  
Guess I’ll lie alone just like before_

Something in that song felt the way he felt every day, like it was speaking directly to him. He threw his head back and lost himself in the music.

It continued on in that manner for almost two hours. By the end of it, his shirt was torn, he’d cracked his glasses, lost a shoe somewhere, and just knew he was going to be covered in bruises the next day, but he couldn’t stop smiling. Suddenly, Remus had a hand on his shoulder.

“Come with me.”

Harry followed him backstage, still absently wondering where his shoe got to, when suddenly--

“Eddie reckons he found your shoe back behind the drumkit; that it?” And there ahead of him was the lead singer of the band, waving a red Converse in one hand, a bottle of Jameson in the other, and a tired smile.

“I saw it get flung off your foot when you were crowd surfing, but I knew if I threw it back to you someone would steal it. Hoped I’d see you looking for it, but turns out you were with my buddy Remus here.” He looked at Remus and quirked a brow. “Your bolt of lightning?”

Remus laughed, nodding. “I still can’t believe you remember that conversation.”

“Hard to forget the time a guy tells you he’s a magic werewolf, and then turns your guitar into a duck to prove it.” Harry and Sirius both stared incredulously at Remus, who was now blushing furiously. “Aw, shit, was I not supposed to say anything? Sorry, man.”

“So he just… knows?”

“Well, erm, in my defense --”

“Yeah, we had smoked a _lot_ of really good shit that night. I honestly thought I might have just been tripping balls and imagined it until I got a letter delivered to me by a fuckin’... like… _owl_. In the middle of the day. All ‘shit, I’m sorry’ and asking me not to say anything about it. Like I was gonna. Anyway, you uh…?” He pointed the shoe at the bottle of whiskey, a clear offer in his eyes. Remus and Sirius looked at one another, then at Harry, and then back. Remus shrugged.

“Lead the way.”

He tossed Harry his shoe back and led them farther backstage, finally bringing them out the back to where the tour bus was. He peered through the closed curtains before sitting them down in a deceptively comfortable living area. He collapsed into his own chair with a deep, exhausted sigh.

“Alright, Ed?”

“Fuckin’ _tired_ , man. Been on the road for weeks. There’s never any kind of a break, you know? Even when we’re not touring, I can’t get away from it. I love playing, I love making music, but everything that seems to come with it… it’s a lot.”

“Harry here could probably relate.” He suddenly found a set of piercing blue eyes fixed on his face.

“Shit I hope not. ‘Cuz this fuckin’ sucks.” And Harry, to his own surprise, managed to find his voice.

“It really does. I’m a bit torn between my least favorite parts so far. Dunno whether it was the Minister not liking what I was saying and starting a media campaign to paint me as a dangerous lunatic, or the current bit, where everyone seems to think I’m the Chosen One that will save the world.” Eddie stared at him for a moment, blinking.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Holy shit, man. Ministry’s your government, right? Okay, cool, cool.” He seemed to struggle with his thoughts a moment, and then filled a few tumblers with ice and whiskey, passing one each to Remus and Sirius, and then pausing. A look passed between him and Remus, and he turned to Harry and tilted the bottle in offering. Harry nodded, so he poured a fourth, with slightly less than the others. “Careful with that, but… God damn, kid, I’d say you earned it.” He sat back, and then… they spent the next few hours talking and drinking, swapping war stories over the warm hum of the whiskey and the fading adrenaline. 

He found out that Remus used to sneak into concerts all the time to see punk shows, which is how he got banned from most of the venues in the UK. That he had met Eddie back in ‘92 when he’d literally run into him while dodging security at the Borderline in London, and the singer had, rather than turn him in, hidden him backstage, done a few shots with him, and then snuck him out back. They had met again later that year, during the Finsbury Park Festival, where the two of them had smoked themselves stupid backstage, and Remus wound up telling him his whole life story, showing him a bit of magic. They had kept in touch sporadically since. Sirius and Eddie railed against the justice system, and waxed poetic about the influence of The Ramones on the punk scene. Eddie briefly mentioned a friend he had recently lost to suicide, leading to a deep general discussion about death and responsibility. He imparted some words of wisdom before they set off for the night that Harry knew he would remember as long as he lived.

“Like it or not, we’ve got a platform, alright? We didn’t ask for this -- you even less so, since you didn’t even fuckin’ do anything, right? So, what do you do about it? How can you turn this shitty fucking platform into something good? So... you keep speaking out, alright? You see something that’s wrong in this world, you keep calling those motherfuckers out on it, since you are in a position where a lot of people can hear you, and I dunno, maybe they’ll stand up with you, you know? Maybe they won’t. They should. But like... you’ve gotta try, at least. Better than doing nothing. And you can’t just do nothing. You can’t. So if they try to shut you down again, and like, seriously, that was some fuckin’ _bullshit_ , man, you call them out on it. You keep fighting. Don’t you compromise who you are just to appease people, alright? You do your thing, stand up for what you believe in, protect the people that need protecting, and fuckin’... like… just be there for your friends and family, man. That's it, that's all that matters.”

Remus and Sirius dropped him back off at Hogwarts at about 4am, sneaking him in through one of the passages. Harry was just coherent enough to remember the password, and they had to carry him quietly up the stairs and practically pour him into his bed. The hangover he had the next morning would be the talk of legends. McGonagall sent Sirius and Remus a Howler; Remus sent one back, though curiously, it didn’t yell. He calmly explained that her only stipulation had been that he be back in time for classes on Monday, which they had followed to the letter, and honestly the kid really needed to get out some -- live a little. Though he would not contest the week’s worth of detentions she had given Harry for accidentally setting his desk on fire when he dozed off in her class. That was… ill advised. (At this, Harry ducked his head a bit to escape the mirthful gaze of his peers, and pocketed the companion letter that had arrived from Sirius. It contained a recipe for a hangover potion, and a warning to “please be responsible, but in case you’re not, don’t get caught.”)

Harry went up to his dorm that evening to see Hedwig sitting very proudly next to a large package that his dorm mates were all poking at curiously.

It was from Remus, Sirius, and Dora. It contained two CD players -- one for the dorm, so he could listen with his friends, the note said -- and the other portable, so he could REALLY listen. They had been tweaked with so that they would work without electricity or batteries; the three of them had been working on them for months and finally got them to work. They had also sent two massive stacks of CDs, one stack containing bands he recognized from t-shirts and conversations from home: The Ramones. The Clash. The Misfits. Dead Kennedys. Social Distortion. The Sex Pistols. Hole. Nirvana. Jane’s Addiction. Smashing Pumpkins. The Offspring. These he knew were donated from Sirius and Dora.

But he saw a slew of others in the second stack that he was less familiar with: Fugazi. Bad Brains. Black Flag. D.O.A. Sonic Youth. Mother Love Bone. Screeching Weasel. Soundgarden. Alice in Chains. The only one he knew was Pearl Jam. These, he realized, belonged to Remus. He flipped through the albums, looking for the one song he had spoken with Eddie about, about the bitter side of fame, which he had connected with so deeply. _There it is_.

He set the CD player up on his bedside table with a grin; Seamus and Dean had recognized it instantly, and run over excitedly.

“Merlin’s balls, Harry, is that a CD player?”

“Yeah it is.”

“Does it work?”

“Supposedly. Remus and Sirius set it up.” He brandished the CD with a grin. “This is who they took me to see the other night. Let’s see if they managed, yeah?”

He turned the player on, opened the top, placed the CD inside, and hit “play.”

Several tracks in, the first ballad came on -- Nothingman -- and Harry realized something, rushing over to the player to back up the track to what he had heard.

_Caught a bolt of lightning, cursed the day he let it go._

_“Your bolt of lightning?”_

_“He was the one that actually caught you when you came screaming into the world. He was the very first person to ever hold you, even before your parents.”_

_“I’d never be able to see you, or any of them, ever again.”_

_Oh._

_OH._

Harry shook it off, acting like he hadn’t just rushed over to the speakers like a madman. He ignored the significant looks that passed over his shoulders between Ron and Neville, and laughed maybe a little too hard at Seamus’ wisecracking about how trashed Harry had been the other night when he came back, and how brilliant his “dads” were.

He was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Eddie and Remus are far from being best friends. This is more or less just a cameo appearance. He may crop up later in a "hey I met him once" kind of way.
> 
> Further disclaimer: Because Harry is 16 at the time of this story, AND is accompanied by his legal guardians, AND is not just... out in public... he is legally permitted to drink in both Germany and the UK. Just want to clarify that.


	4. Of Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy interlude.

“I think... I might want to marry her.”

“...You think?”

“Come off it, you know what I mean.”

“You're serious, then?”

“Isn't that _your_ line?”

“Oh, come on, I wouldn't crack that joke right n-- alright, yeah, maybe I would have. But not today! Today I'm playing the straight man.”

“You used to be _much_ better at that, you know.”

“Watch it, you.”

The silence stretched out between them for several beats.

“Well. If you're sure, let me call her down and--”

“Not _now_ , you daft tit! I haven't got a ring or anything yet.”

“Well what are you waiting for?”

“I literally _just_ wrapped my mind around this an hour ago, and was just… I dunno. Saying it out loud, at you. _To_ you.”

“Normally we call that ‘telling’, Remus.”

“Ah, cau dy geg. You're being bloody impossible right now.”

“Merlin, you're actually _blushing_. Never thought I'd see the day.” He sighed. “Alright, what do you need me to do? Help you pick a ring out? Plan a romantic dinner just the two of you so you can ask her properly?”

“Erm…”

“I mean, I can go nip over to the school and visit with Harry for a night, if it'll help. Maybe make a whole weekend out of it. There's a Hogsmeade trip coming up soon… oh, but I think he was going to try and ask Ginny to go with him… well, I'm sure I can come up with something that'll work…”

“Sirius. Why do you think you need to not be here?”

“... Should I be?”

“Oh, bollocks. You have no idea, do you?”

“What are you on about?”

“I'm… erm… I'm not just asking _Dora_.”

“You're not… wait, hang on. You… _me_? Really?”

“Do I need to draw a map? Merlin and Morgana, Sirius, _yes_ , I'm also asking _you_.”

“... _Oh_.”

“Now who's blushing?”

“Shut it. You're serious? Both of us? All of us together?”

“Quite.”

“I just… _fuck_ , Remus, that's… very _permanent_. Are you sure?”

“Are you planning on going somewhere?”

“Well, no, but--”

“Because I had no intentions of letting you go again. Unless... that was what you wanted?”

“ _Fuck_ no, but… bloody hell, Remus.”

“Do you need some time to think about it? I know I just sort of dropped it on you…”

“Yeah, that's typically how proposals work… fuck, was that a proposal?”

“A very sorry attempt at one, yes.”

“...We have _got_ to work on that before you ask Dora. Not that she wouldn't find it endearing, but… _well_. I can see to the rings and all. Just give me some kind of timeline to work with, I'll make it happen.”

“So, is that…?”

“Of course I'll marry you, dick head. You just surprised me, is all.”

“Oh. Good. That's… good.”

“... Huh.”

“What?”

“You know, I think I'd marry you a hundred times if it got you to smile at me like that again.”

“Mush.”

“You love me.”

“I do. I really fucking do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus, when things are going well: "Haha, I'm in danger."
> 
> Welsh translation:
> 
> "Shut up/shut your mouth"


	5. My Dear, You Have the Grim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus makes an uncommon house call.
> 
> No one liked this.

Severus Snape was probably the last person that Remus wanted to get a floo call from at eleven o'clock at night. Especially since he could tell at a glance he was in a foul mood. Nonetheless, he had allowed him entry into their sitting room, where he now stood, glowering about as though the very air offended him.

“What on Earth could he have done that was so beyond the pale it couldn't wait until normal hours of human operation?” Snape's lip curled with distaste; the closest approximation to a wry grin he was ever liable to wring from the sallow-faced man.

“Believe it or not, _Lupin_ , while Potter is the subject of my visit, he has for once not done anything to necessitate a home visit… yet.” He felt Sirius --who he had not-so-subtly silenced when he saw who was calling-- shift impatiently beside him.

“Right, so then to what do we owe the pleasure?” Snape's expression suddenly became inscrutable.

“Dumbledore has divulged to me his plan for the boy. I… take _issue_ with it. Strongly. But I am not in a position to openly defy him.” His blood ran cold. There was one thing that Remus had always been sure of, and that was that Dumbledore, somehow, had Snape's unwavering loyalty. For that to be so shaken…

“What did he tell you?” A heartbeat passed between them.

“What do you know about horcruxes?”

“Nothing at all. Sirius, do you…?” He trailed off at the look on Sirius’ face: all the color had gone out of it, every muscle in his body gone taut as a bowstring. He unsilenced him, yielding the floor.

“I assume that's how He survived, then?” Snape nodded curtly. “Great. Fucking great. Does Albus happen to know where it is?”

“They.” Sirius blinked slowly.

“I'm sorry, I thought you just said ‘they’, but you couldn't _possibly_ have because that would imply He's made _more than one_ and that's not actually-- _why the fuck are you nodding_?” 

“Strange, I thought that was a universal signal for ‘yes’ or ‘correct’. Silly me, perhaps I should have _howled_ it for you.” Remus thought that was a bit unfair of him, and stepped forward to intervene. Sirius, however, beat him to it.

“ _They_ , then. Does he know where _they_ are?” His voice was shaking; Remus could hear his heart pounding, smell the _fear_ radiating off him in waves. _What are these things that they’ve frightened you so_?

“He has some ideas. Fortunately, the brat unwittingly took care of one in his second year. The diary that possessed the Weasley girl.”

“How did he-- oh. Basilisk fang, wasn’t it?” He looked up to Snape for confirmation: yet another curt nod. “You lucky little blighter. That the only one?”

“No, there’s another. A ring. Albus himself destroyed it, at a cost.” _Harry mentioned that Dumbledore’s arm was injured… must have been it._ Sirius nodded absently.

“I’m assuming He’s made more than two.”

“Presumably. The only other person he’s confided that information to has been Potter.” He and Sirius glanced at one another; he could see Sirius had the same thought he did. _The lessons_.

“Why Harry?”

“I assume it ties into what I am about to tell you.” It suddenly occurred that the tension he saw in Snape’s shoulders had little to do with being in their home. “Apparently, when He attempted to kill Potter, the rebounding curse sheared off a piece of His soul. That piece then latched onto the closest living thing it could find.” He heard Sirius make an inhuman noise next to him.

“Severus, what does this mean?” Snape regarded Remus evenly.

“It means that the boy was turned into a horcrux. And the only way to destroy a horcrux is to put the container beyond magical repair.” His expression wavered; Remus wasn’t certain he imagined the rage in the man’s eyes or not. “Dumbledore intends for Potter to find out only after he has destroyed all the others, and to willingly sacrifice himself to the Dark Lord. He intends for the boy to die.” The world spun beneath his feet, and all went black.

_Mae eisiau lladd fy mab. Am beth? Darn o enaid? Albus, sut allech chi?_

_Fydd e ddim yn niwed â fy mab. Neb wnaf, byth. Bydda i'n lladd pob un ohonynt. Bydda i'n rhwygo ei wddf allan gyda fy nannedd ac yn ymdrochi yn ei waed._

“Remus! Remus no!” Something was holding him down; he howled with rage.

_Gad fi fynd! Bydda i'n cerfio'i galon allan o'i frest! Bydda i'n plicio'r cnawd o'i esgyrn ac yn eu gwisgo ar faes y gad fel rhybudd! Fydd e ddim yn niwed â fy mab!_

“Easy there Attila! Come on, love, slow down, shhhhh…” He was struggling to breathe. The pounding in his ears was becoming fainter.

_Na... na, na, na! Nid fy mab!_

“ _PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!” His arms and legs snapped together; he could no longer move anything at all. The pressure around his throat subsided. He glared into the carpet, seething. He heard something shatter.

“Get him under control before I have to stun him!”

“Why haven't you?”

“Because he's not in full control of himself right now, and it could irreparably damage his mind! So get on with it!” A thud next to him; the growl rippling through his chest heightened to a snarl.

“Moony, come on love. It's just me. Shhhh… there you are.” A gentle hand on his back. Slowly, his surroundings began to bleed back in. He was lying face down on the carpet in the sitting room. Sirius was kneeling next to him. _Why does Snape have his wand on me? Why am I immobilized?_ Then he remembered: Dumbledore planned on killing Harry. Not directly, of course, no-- never anything so gauche. But the road ended the same regardless.

_Oh no... no, no no no..._

“Alright, I think we can let him up.”

“Are you _certain_ , Black?”

“Positive.” Remus felt the spell release him, and he pulled himself up onto his hands and knees. His throat was raw from screaming.

“We're not letting him do this.”

“No.”

“But obviously this is a problem. A big one.”

“It is, yes.”

“Severus, is there any more information you have about this? Anything that could help us?”

“I do not. As I've already told you, Potter has been given all of the relevant information-- and knowing Albus, it's probably all in half-truths and riddles, to prevent the boy from finding out his fate until the last possible moment. Although...” He paused, tilting his head slightly. “Albus did say that I would know when to inform the boy of his fate when the Dark Lord feared for the life of Nagini-- his snake-- and began keeping her close. So I do wonder if she might be one of them.” Remus blinked slowly.

“I'm sorry, when _you_ informed Harry? He was planning on having _you_ break the news?”

“Obviously.” It was a sick joke: Harry despised Snape, and the hatred was certainly mutual. To have him be the one to tell Harry he needed to… to…

_No. He won't need to. We're finding another way. Sirius was a damn good curse breaker. I'm good at research, and have some connections that I can leverage. We can figure this out. We're the fucking Marauders._

“Thank you for letting us know, Severus. We'll take it from here.”

“I will not be able to assist you, you realize.”

“I'm aware. Nonetheless, we are in your debt.” Snape raised one finely arched brow at him.

“I will keep that in mind.” _Of course you will. But me not liking it doesn’t change shite_.

Snape returned to the school. Sirius moved to the liquor cabinet.

“What kind of drunk are we feeling tonight, Moony?” He took a deep breath before replying.

“Bourbon, but I’m also going to put some tea on.” He trudged to the kitchen. Sirius called after him.

“Bourbon… interesting choice. Here I was thinking we were going gin tonight.”

“I fucking hate gin.”

“You can’t deny it’s good for blackout nights. And at least _you_ only get cranky on it; gin-drunk Sirius wakes up in the bathtub covered in vomit, wearing nothing but his pants, an unidentified bra, and one sock. Actually, on second thought, maybe gin _isn’t_ a good idea.”

“That was Mary’s bra, and I had to pay her for a new one.”

“Why you?”

“Because apparently I was the one that nicked it off her and dared you to wear it.”

“Ah, yes, that would do it. Still, I’d have paid for it.”

“I know, s’why I nicked the money out of your trunk.”

“You rotten bastard!”

“Oi, I told you to _wear_ the thing, not to puke in the bloody cups.”

“You don’t even remember daring me! Lily had to tell you the morning after!”

“That is entirely irrelevant.”

They bickered back and forth like this while the water boiled, trying their best to ignore the sucking wound in their chests that Snape’s news had left them with. If their voices were more strained than usual, their laughter more forced, neither of them addressed it right then. The only way to keep moving, to keep _breathing_ , was to patch it over with humor, until--

Sirius’ fist slammed into the wall, knocking a sizeable hole through it, then another. He was still laughing, a hysterical edge to him that hadn't been present before. Remus just watched, a numb feeling settling over his bones as he stirred his tea. Sirius whirled around, picking up a chair and launching it into the wall; it shattered on contact, punching another hole.

He would let him have this. Walls and furniture could be repaired with a wave of a wand. Harry, on the other hand…

“What the _fuck_ does the universe have against that boy?” Sirius asked shrilly, his hands pulling at his hair, the incredulous laughter still present in his voice. “I mean, after _everything_ he's been through, there's just… _nothing_ for him at the end of it but a fucking martyr’s death? When is enough _enough_? I just… I don't understand…” He sank to the floor, and Remus sank with him. He didn't understand how he was able to remain so calm. He knew, intellectually, that he was as devastated as Sirius was --so why didn't he feel something?

Remus continued to stir his tea. A vague sense of wrongness niggled at the back of his brain. It didn't matter, he supposed. _He_ wasn't the one destined to die. Well, at least not for a good while yet. There was glass on the carpet; he watched the way the light from the fireplace caught the shards. They briefly flashed green. Why was his breath so heavy in his chest? Everything was heavy, even the hands on his face. The world was blurring around the edges, fading. He could smell sandalwood and cigarettes, hot tea and whiskey, and _fear_. Someone was afraid, but who?

_I am._

Tear-filled grey eyes, beseeching, level with his.

Everything hit him at once; all the pain and fear he had been holding at bay, the impotent rage, but most importantly--

Remus shakily lifted his hands to cup Sirius’ face, kissing his brow as tenderly as he could manage. He was back in control. He _had_ to be. Sirius needed him.

“We're going to break this. I don't know how yet, but we will.”

“What do we do?”

“We have friends we can call on. Experts we trust. And we've got the Marauders.” Sirius scoffed.

“Love, I don't know how to break this to you, but our merry band of miscreants is currently running at about half power.”

“We _aren't_ , though.” Sirius pulled back to look at him skeptically.

“What are you on about?”

“ _The twins_.” He watched as Sirius put two and two together, then tried to think of an argument against it… and failed. His eyes widened.

“Alright, yeah, that might work. And they've got a vested interest in helping Harry.”

“And then there's Harry and his friends.” Sirius’ expression shifted to alarm.

“You can't be thinking of _telling_ him.” He looked over to where Dora was standing-- _wait, when did she get here?_ “Dora, please tell him that's a bad idea.” She considered the two of them for a moment.

“Remus, why don't you explain your reasoning to us on that one?” He nodded.

“Harry won't wait for us. He's going to push forward with what he feels is the best course of action based on the information he has at hand. So if that information is incomplete… well, the Ministry incident comes to mind.” Sirius shook his head.

“And you trust him to not take matters into his own hands? Especially as this drags on, and the casualties start mounting? You honestly believe he would be able to live with that, knowing that bastard can't be killed as long as he draws breath?”

“And how do you expect to get the information about the horcruxes out of him? Especially if Dumbledore has him convinced it needs to be a secret-- I'll have you note he hasn't told us anything about these lessons so far except to say it's been about Voldemort's past. Target research, if you will.”

“I dunno, ask?”

“And how do we explain we know? Or do we not and just hope that he'll betray Dumbledore's confidence--”

“He would tell us if we asked, Remus, he's not stupid--”

“No, he's suspicious. He doesn't trust adults--”

“He trusts _us_ \--”

“And you want us to _betray_ that trust by _lying_ to him! Not to mention we don't have the best track record of handling things--”

“Remus, love--”

“I mean we've both run off half-cocked before and _completely_ destroyed everyone's lives, and now we've done a real _tidy_ job of fixing it, what with letting the traitorous _cont_ get away from us because _I_ couldn't be fucked to remember it was a _full bloody moon_ , and _you_ got your arse kicked by a bunch of _thirteen year olds_ \--”

“Remus, you're being--”

“And let's not forget the fact that even after _all_ of that, we were still letting Albus _fucking_ Dumbledore lead us around by the hands like a pair of _infants_ because we decided to trust him instead of going to be with Harry, to be there for him like we both wanted, and _look what happened_!”

“REMUS!”

He stood shaking in the middle of the sitting room, eyes locked onto Sirius’ stricken face. Dora stepped between them, putting a hand on his chest.

“Go. Take a walk and cool off.” Her hair and eyes were black as pitch; she was furious with him. _Fine_. He turned on his heel and left.

He didn't come to bed that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Apologies again for my horrid Welsh. I'm trying really, really hard to fix this as I learn more. But I'm currently only at the level where I can tell someone I like coffee, and perhaps inform them that I'm wearing a shirt. I've come back in and made some edits, and I think it's better? But I'm not sure. I'm trying to go simpler where I can, but I also didn't want to lose his Attila rant.)
> 
> Welsh translations:  
> He wants to kill my son. For what? A piece of soul? Albus, how could you?
> 
> He will not harm my son. No one will, ever. I'll kill them all. I will tear his throat out with my teeth and bathe in his blood.
> 
> Let me go! I'll carve his heart out of his chest! I'll peel the flesh from his bones and wear them on the battlefield as a warning! He will not harm my son!
> 
> No... no, no, no! Not my son!
> 
> Cunt


	6. An Unkind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forgiveness is a process.
> 
> For Remus, it will be a long, grueling, painful process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I gave up on doing entire conversations in Welsh because honestly... there is a very tiny subset of people who can read that without translate open in another tab (myself included), and really it's just too much. So you'll still get translated snippets here and there, but conversations with Harry are going to be primarily in English now. His grasp of Welsh is not strong enough for this (nor is mine.) I'll figure out how to do longer conversations later.

“Harry… you awake?”

“Hrmm? Sirius, it's one in the bloody morning…”

“Sorry, I can go, I just…”

“... Are you okay?”

“Yeah, o-of course. M’fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Hang on, hang on, shite… where's my…? There it is... _Muffliato_ … alright, what's wrong?”

“I just wanted to talk to you is all. Nothing's _wrong_.”

“...Was that supposed to be convincing?”

“...Maybe. Had a bit of a tiff with Remus, but I'd rather not talk about it. I just wanted to… heh, I dunno what I wanted.”

“Hmm…” 

“Sorry to wake you, this was stupid.”

“S’fine… y’know, quidditch practice was interesting today.”

“Was it?”

“Yeah. I had the chasers running drills against Ron, figured it'd be good practice for all of them. Might have _conveniently_ forgotten that Ginny is a bit hacked off at him right now.”

“Oh no. What did he do?”

“Ah, well, he was taking the mickey the other day, and kind of, erm…”

“Embarrassed her?”

“No, embarrassed _me_. I mean I'd have gotten over it eventually, but now I've got Dean and Seamus giving me shite about… well, anyway, she was ticked at him.”

“What'd she do?”

“Nothing _wrong_ at all. Ran drills, just like she was supposed to. And Ron didn't miss a single throw of hers.”

“...Okay.”

“Just, you know, caught most of them with his face.”

“Ah... An elegant solution.”

“I was pretty proud of myself.”

“You should be. I know I am… we all are.”

“Thanks.”

“...I should really let you get back to sleep. I _am_ sorry I woke you.”

“Don't apologize. I don't mind hearing from you, you know. Especially if you needed to talk, or just hear me natter on about my day, or whatever.”

“...I appreciate it. Alright, Dora's giving me the eye now, so…”

“Hi Dora!”

“'Lo, Harry!”

“ Alright… ‘night, Pads.”

“'Night, Pup.”

\----------

Remus leaned against the doorway, watching Sirius bang about the kitchen; he was making omelettes, and somehow managing to make a hell of a mess in the process. _I can relate_.

“Welcome back.” Sirius hadn't turned around. His tone was light. Dora was sitting at the table, sipping her coffee. She arched a dark brow at him. _Shite_.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“I see. And what, pray tell, are you ’sorry’ for, I wonder?” _Oh I fucked up_. “Is this in regards to the litany of horrible and frankly _cruel_ things you said to me?” _Oh no_. “Or is this in regards to your inability to discuss things with me? Or, I don't know, maybe the fact that you disappeared and couldn't be arsed to send so much as a note letting us know you were intending on returning at any point, or even _alive_ ,” _Oh bloody buggering hell I really fucked up_. “Or is this just a general ‘I'm an arrogant arsehole, please forgive me’ sort of apology?”

“Erm… I could go with the general, since it covers all the bases, but I suspect that would be less well received than me addressing each of my offenses individually.” At this, Sirius made a noise not unlike an angry cat; Dora, from the table, gave him a flat look he could only describe as ‘utterly unimpressed.’

“Well. Let's start with this then,” Sirius threw down the turner, whipping around to face him, his fists balled at his sides. “Where the _fuck_ have you been?”

“Sirius, the eggs--” The furious man waved his hand; the turner started operating on its own. “Oh. Erm... okay. Well. I, erm… _did_ take a walk, as Dora suggested--” Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Don't you put this on me, sir.”

“I'm not! I just... I walked down to the lake, and sort of... thought things over. Realized I'd been an arsehole. Was a bit ashamed to show my face after what I'd said to you. I was out of line, Sirius.”

“So you stayed away for _a week_? Remus, I thought you'd left. _Again_.” The reminder stung; he had stormed out that night as well, tired of the suspicion, and gone to the packs early. He had intended to return, but... it wasn't to be. It had been the last time they had seen one another until 1994.

“I had _always_ planned on coming back, but--” he quelled Sirius’ angry retort with a look. “I _do_ realize that without me communicating that to you, you would have had no way of knowing this. My intent is irrelevant; this is on me.” He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing at his forearm. “I was frightened and upset, and I lost my head, took it out on you instead of talking it out. I hurt you, and you didn't deserve that, least of all from me. You're supposed to be able to trust me, and I've broken that trust... I'm so sorry.”

Sirius stared at him for a few moments, his eyes hard.

“Dw i’n ddig iawn gyda ti.” 

“Dw i’n deall.” 

“You had _no right_ , Remus." 

“Dw i'n gwybod, mae'n ddrwg gen i.” 

“I'd rather you do better, instead of being sorry.” Remus hung his head, nodding morosely.

“I will. I promise.” Sirius nodded sharply, turning around and grabbing a plate, loading an omelet onto it and levitating it over to the table. 

“Sit down and eat before your food gets cold.” 

He sat down, relief flooding through him. Dora caught his eye. 

“That was a very nice apology.” 

“And yet I'm sensing a ‘however’.” 

“I'm going to let Sirius decide whether you sleep on the couch or not.” 

“...You're not angry with me?” 

"I'm more angry for Sirius. While you were off feeling sorry for yourself the last week, Harry and I have been trying to keep him from falling apart. He's been an absolute mess.” His appetite, recently returned, threatened to vanish again. 

“Harry knows?” 

“He knows there was an argument, but we didn't give him any specifics. You may want to mirror call him tonight.” 

“That'll be a fun one.” 

“Don't be stupid then.” Sirius came to sit down at the table, seating himself closer to Dora than to Remus. He tried to ignore the twinge of pain he felt; he was likely to be in the dog house for quite some time. And that was without throwing Harry into the mix. 

He was really not looking forward to that conversation. 

\-------- 

“Well, look who the cat dragged in.” 

“Helo i ti hefyd.” 

“Wyt ti wedi gorffen bod yn dwp?” 

"I've finished being unfair to him. He is still angry with me, however." 

“Was it worth it?” 

"It was an important conversation, but... I didn't need to be cruel. And I was." 

“Not a good look, Remus, honestly.” 

“Nid yw, na.” 

“So, it's like this: he mirror calls me at one in the morning, right? And he's trying to keep a stiff upper lip because really, it's _Sirius_ , and that's just the way he is right? But he tells me you two argued, and I'm not an idiot, I can tell he's upset--” 

“Harry…” 

“--so Remus, why don't you explain to me why you made him cry." 

“... We had both just gotten some rather awful news, and neither of us took it well. I was upset, and angry, and I lashed out at him and said some... _very_ awful things. Things I wish I could take back.” 

“Okay. Why?" 

“We weren't seeing eye to eye on how to best resolve the issue, and we both feel very strongly about it. I lost my temper, Sirius didn't. I'm not particularly proud of it." 

"Have you talked it out since?" 

"Honestly, no... I've been afraid to bring it up again. But we do need to talk about it. It's... time sensitive." 

“You know, I almost prefer him being totally tight lipped about what the argument was about over this vague half-answer shite." 

“If it helps at all, once we _can_ tell you about it, we will.” 

"I don't like secrets, Remus. Especially if they're about me." 

"I know. Trust me, I'm working on it." 

"Well you're both idiots, and you can tell Sirius I said that.” 

"I will pass it along." 

"And Remus? If you ever make him cry again, we're going to have a problem. Understand?" 

"... Dw i'n deall." 

“Da. And no more runners, alright? I _know_ you left. Pull that again and I _will_ leave school to hunt your arse down. Don't think I won't." 

"I won't do it again. I promise." 

“Good. I’m holding you to it. Anyway, I’ve gotta go, the lads are trying to play a couple rounds of Snap, and I reckon I’ve lectured you enough. Give my love to Pads and Dora, if you’re still allowed.” 

“Ouch. Thanks.” 

“Actions have consequences, Mr. Moony. Siarad yn fuan?" 

“Of course. Will you still be coming home for Christmas?” 

“Of course I'm coming home. Even if you're all being a bunch of shifty wankers.” 

“Alright, alright, g’wan then, ya chopsy bugger.” 

“Nos da, Remus!” 

“Nos da, Harry.” 

\------- 

Harry tucked the mirror back into his pocket with a shake of his head. _Christ, Tad can be really bloody dense sometimes_. Ron was setting the cards up with Seamus over on his bed; Dean sat back against the headboard, watching Seamus’ lips with a half-glazed expression as the Irishman mouthed off about something or another. _Real subtle, Dean_. Neville looked up from his seat on the foot of the bed and grinned at Harry as he approached. 

“Have a good chat, Harry?” He shook his head with a laugh. 

“Yeah, you could call it that. These two _still_ setting up? I’d have thought you’d all be waiting on me.” 

“Nah, they’re arguing over the usual.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake… Seamus!” 

“Oi Potter!” 

“Are you still on about that shite?” 

“Which?” 

“The deck size! We’ve been over this: we play standard, you bloody numpty! Full deck!” 

“An’ I keep tellin’ you fookers I don’t play no _full deck_ bloody Snap; it’s _twenty cards_.” 

“And _we_ keep telling _you_ that’s Patience. _We_ play Standard, since _most_ of us value our eyebrows.” 

“Who gives a fook? S’more excitin’ than this shite, yeah? Live a little, lads!” Harry shared a pitying look with Ron over Seamus’ shoulder. The redhead shugged. 

“I’ve been having this conversation with him for the last thirty minutes, he’s not bloody budging.” 

“S’not my fault you all’ve been playin’ wrong all this time!” Harry squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and decided to put his foot down. 

“Seamus we’re _not_ playing Patience, last time we did you lit your bed hangings on fire, alright? _No_.” Seamus scowled at him. 

“Ahh, yer jus’ in a shite mood cos yer rowin’ wit’cher Da.” He scowled back, banishing a pillow into his face. 

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” 

“Fook me yerself, ye coward!” 

“Don’t reckon Dean would appreciate that mate, but alright. Thanks for... that. I guess” 

“Oi, oi, leave me the hell out of this!” 

“No, _do_ go on, I’d love to explain this one to my sister.” 

“ _Don’t. You. Dare._ ” 

“ _Alright_ , I’m going to deal us in: eyes up, mouths shut lads!” 

“Good man, Neville, always liked you.” 

They settled down, falling into a rhythm of tapping cards, heckling, and intermittent explosions, playing until the wee hours of the morning. It felt good, laughing with them all like this. It made it easy to push the encroaching darkness to the back of his mind, and he didn’t need to think about where these strange, cryptic meetings in the Headmaster’s office were leading, or about the fact that his da--- that _Sirius and Remus_ were fighting, and trying to figure out why. He could just be Harry, a sixteen year old boy who loved to play Quidditch and snog his girlfriend -- preferably without her brother giving him shite about it. He could just _be_. 

Just a little. Just for tonight. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta give Remus credit for making the apology tour with this family, that's for sure. Maybe don't step in it next time.
> 
> Also, hope everyone enjoyed some Gryffindor Boys Dorm banter. The "Harry's dads" bit started off as a bit of a gag with Seamus; it's sticking rather better than Harry had initially realized. Probably because it fits, and he damn well knows it.
> 
> Welsh translations:
> 
> SIRIUS & REMUS  
> "I'm very angry with you."  
> "I understand."  
> "I know, I'm sorry."  
> HARRY & REMUS:  
> "Hello to you too."  
> "Are you finished being stupid?"  
> "It's not, no."  
> "...I understand."  
> "Good. ..."  
> "Speak soon?"  
> "Good night."
> 
> Tad = Dad


	7. Rusty Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> August 1996. Remus decides that now is the time to start drawing the battle lines.
> 
> Not against Voldemort.
> 
> Against Albus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a note, in case it wasn't clear before... these chapters are not always going to be in chronological order. I also always encourage reading the lyrics of the songs I reference as titles, since they're usually at least a little thematic. I just prefer not to include them in the story... it's not my writing.

“Remus, Sirius. Thank you for meeting with me this evening.” Sirius busied himself with preparing the tea, trying to mask the tension in his shoulders. He was immensely grateful that the old man had owled ahead, so that he had enough time to force a mild Calming Draught down Remus’ throat. Nothing too strong, just enough to keep him from gouging out Albus’ eyes. He looked over at the sandy-haired man as he positioned himself in front of Harry’s armchair, motioning for Albus to sit in the opposing one; Sirius could see a vein ticking in his temple. _Hopefully enough, anyway._

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” _Remus, you filthy fucking liar._ “I was actually hoping to talk to you about Harry’s class selection for this year; there are no objections, I trust?” Dumbledore smiled warmly, his eyes twinkling. Sirius suppressed a flinch as he handed him his tea. _Three sugars and a fuck load of spite, you old goat._

“Yes, yes, he did quite well on his OWLs, as I understand. Far better than I could have imagined, truth be told, with everything he has been through, poor boy. Top marks in Defense, in particular. I understand he’s taking on Ancient Runes as a bit of independent study? Bathsheda’s been quite impressed with his test results. Apparently he’s proving to be quite a dab hand with Futhark. The boy’s truly coming into his own." He paused to sip his tea; he nodded at Sirius approvingly. _Oh good, he recognizes I've done_ one _thing right at least._ "It seems that despite my reservations, moving him into your care has done him a world of good.” Sirius firmly pressed a mug into Remus’ hands; their eyes met, just long enough to steady one another. Remus thanked him and took a sip as he turned back to Albus.

“Yes, I would imagine it has.” _Careful, Remus… don’t go baring your fangs at him just yet._ “But of course, I highly doubt that you came all this way just to chat about our son. What brings you to our home this evening?”

“Ah, yes, well… you have both missed the last few Order meetings, so you may not be fully up to date--”

“I’ve been keeping them abreast of new developments while they’ve been taking care of affairs here at home,” Dora interjected, shoving a scone in her mouth and taking the proffered mug from Sirius with a wink ("'Ta, love") before flopping herself unceremoniously onto the sofa nearest Albus. Sirius, out of the corner of his eye, watched Remus recollect himself.

“Oh, Miss Tonks -- I apologize, I had forgotten you were staying here as well.” He affected a tone of pleasant surprise, but Sirius was a Black: he had been raised on intrigue, cut his teeth on politics -- and regardless of his personal feelings, could play the game as well as anyone when he so chose. Albus had not forgotten; he had just been hoping that Dora was on duty that night, so he would be a little less outnumbered. He suppressed a smirk at this: she was supposed to have been, but had switched with someone upon hearing that Dumbledore would be paying a visit that night.

_“I’m not leaving you two to deal with him alone; I’ll never get the blood out of the carpet.”_

Dora was smiling guilelessly at Albus, her hair and eyes matching in a blinding shade of bright green; by all appearances being her normal, brightly colored self -- but he knew it was just the most obnoxious color she could think of, and that it actually hurt to look at her too long. _Remus needs to get his act together and ask her before I beat him to it._ Dumbledore recovered from the interruption, if lacking perhaps a little of his usual grace.

“Well, then, as you are no doubt aware, Voldemort’s forces are growing bolder by the day. We are in need of allies in these times, or at the very least, the ability to deprive Him of His. Remus, I know that you have been preoccupied with matters of a personal nature these past few weeks, but I am afraid I must call on you once more to attempt to break through to the packs. Your role has never been more important than now, my boy.” Sirius leaned against the wall, watching Remus’ face carefully: he was looking into his tea with an expression of apparently deep contemplation, elbows on his knees. He could smell the coppery tang of fury on the air. _Merlin, please… please let that Calming Draught have done the job._ Remus nodded slowly, lips lightly pursed.

“My role… you bring up a very good point, Albus.” The old wizard brightened perceptibly.

“Good, then, I will make arrangements--”

“I did not say I would be going.” Sirius felt a shiver run up his spine as Remus’ voice took on a deeper, more commanding timbre. He could see it in the sudden stillness of him, the tension in the lines of his body evoking the image not of discomfort nor of anxiety, but rather an apex predator prepared to move in for the kill. He had not yet looked up from his tea, a single finger tapping the side of the mug.

“I’m sorry, my boy, I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Remus hummed lightly at this, tilting his head slightly to the left.

“No, I don’t suppose you would. Allow me to clarify my stance for you: the wolves will not be persuaded, and my attempts at reasoning with them have fallen on deaf ears. I reported as much to you on multiple occasions, both last year and in 1981. The situation has not improved.”

“I am certain if you kept trying--”

“I will not continue placing my family in jeopardy for a fool’s errand.”

“A fool’s--? Remus, I am surprised at you! I had thought you, of all people, would want to prevent Greyback from gaining more power under Voldemort’s protection.” _Low blow, Albus._ Sirius saw a very faint crease appear between Remus’ brows; the only outward sign of his irritation.

“I’m frankly insulted that you think I’m not working to take that rabid beast down at the earliest opportunity.”

“Cutting his support off at the knees is the best option for--” Remus’ eyes snapped to Albus’ face, burning gold.

“ _No._ ” The word reverberated in Sirius's chest, quietly spoken, but with such force of purpose it damn near brought him to his knees. _Thank fuck for this wall._ Remus straightened in his chair, rolling his shoulders slightly, now tilting his head to the right. “You’re not listening to me. I will not be going. My place, my _role_ , as you so put it, is here, with _my_ pack, not fucking about with a bunch of ferals that are, quite literally, _slavering_ at the chance to exact retribution upon humanity for the wrongs done unto them.”

“So instead, you turn your back on those you once wished to help? I had thought you were possessed of some compassion for others with your affliction, but I see I was mistaken.”

“Do not patronize me. Of course I have _compassion_ for them. Unlike you, I’ve lived among them. _Hunted_ with them. I could have easily _been_ them. But you may as well shove a bloody Labrador in with them, and you’d get the same results, because I am not _like_ them, and they _know_ it.”

“Is it possible you let something slip? A word, a gesture?”

“I was extolling the virtues of living among wizardkind, which for most was telling enough, but even without that they could _smell_ the civilization on me. ‘Dumbledore’s Dog.’ That’s what they called me. ‘ _The tame wolf_ ’. The only way to convince them would be to join them --truly, not just for show-- and that is one thing I refuse to do.”

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his crooked nose, regarding Remus with a gravity Sirius had never before seen. 

“The supposed impossibility of your mission could not be the only reason you’re refusing, else you would have said as much when I asked you to return last year. So I can only assume there is another reason.”

“There are several, that just happened to be the one I thought would actually matter to you.”

“I don’t think that’s fair of you, Remus.”

“You know what isn’t fair, Albus?” He leaned forward suddenly, carelessly levitating the teacup to the table as he did so. Sirius watched him thread his fingers together, elbows propped on his knees, a sudden intensity to him that hadn't been present before. _He’s going in for the kill now._ “Going to Azkaban for twelve years for a crime you didn’t commit. That’s what isn’t fair.”

“That was unfortunate, of course, but--”

“You cast the Fidelius yourself, correct? You set the secret keeper?”

“Yes, and it was my understanding that it was Sirius. Obviously they changed it--”

“Cut the shite, Albus. You can’t change the secret keeper after the spell has been set without the original caster’s knowledge; you’d have had to reset it for them.” Sirius struggled to remain impassive; that had been the hardest thing to reconcile with upon his imprisonment. He looked to Dumbledore for some sign of remorse, but the man’s face was cold and hard as chiseled marble. _Damn. I don't know what I expected, but it hurts nonetheless._ “You _knew_ he was innocent the whole time, and you chose to do _nothing._ The question is, _why?_ ”

“I’m sure you have some exciting theories.”

“Possibly. But another thing that isn’t fair -- and is perhaps related, I think -- is what you’ve done to Harry. Even now, you still want to send him back to the Dursleys, correct?”

“He _is_ safer there than anywhere else.”

“Bollocks. I know that you had Molly and Arthur reporting on _several_ occasions that he had come to their home dangerously underweight and with unexplained injuries. I'm also certain they reported what Ron and the twins saw when they picked him up that first summer. But it took Sirius catching that beast _attacking_ Harry in front of him for you to finally move, and let us get him out of there. And yet you still want to insist that was _safe?_ "

“I could have spoken with them about it, set wards to prevent them--”

“All just to preserve those blood wards?”

“Precisely! They offered unrivalled security--”

“Unrivalled, yes… except that Voldemort should have been able to breach those wards as easily as he did the force that used to prevent him from laying so much as a _finger_ on Harry. The one he stripped from him last summer. Or did you think we wouldn’t piece that together?” Dumbledore looked as though he had been force-fed a lemon. He heard footsteps approaching from the other room.

"Hey Sirius, ti’n gweld--" Harry froze as soon as he entered the sitting room, eyes taking stock of the scene before him. Sirius could only imagine how it looked to him: he and Dora, both subtly palming their wands; Dumbledore sitting in a chair looking like a chastened schoolboy; Remus, leaning forward in his seat, outwardly calm, but with teeth slightly bared as he stared the headmaster down.

"Erm… hullo Professor."

"Harry, it's nice to see you. Having a good holiday?"

"Yeah, it's been brilliant. Been learning loads." He looked between the headmaster and Remus nervously. "Erm… iawn?" The corners of Remus' mouth twitched up slightly at Harry's question; it somehow did not make his expression less menacing.

"The headmaster and I were simply discussing your workload for this coming year. Making sure that _our_ lessons with you won't impede your normal schedule at all. It's quite a lot with the captainship, after all. We don't want you to fall behind." Dumbledore's eyes tightened slightly.

"Remus, I don't know that's such a--"

"I'm not asking, Albus." The headmaster's jaw snapped shut with a click. Harry, to his credit, seemed to realize it would be best to make himself scarce. The boy looked at him questioningly.

"Gyfrinach?" Sirius shook his head.

"Ddim nawr."

"Fi?" He tilted his hand back and forth.

"Rhai. Nid pob un." Harry regarded him with uncharacteristic seriousness for a moment before he finally nodded and turned to go with a wave.

"Alright. I'll be in my room if anyone needs me. Ddim lladd." Sirius nodded, waving back as the boy left. _No promises, Pup._ He turned back to the show.

"This hostility is truly unnecessary." The werewolf snorted derisively.

"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted that you think _this_ is hostile." Sirius saw his eyes move, just a fraction, and knew he was finally meeting Dumbledore's gaze directly. "You have interfered with my family for years, and your actions have, either directly or indirectly, caused us a _great deal_ of suffering. James and Lily are dead, and Harry and Sirius both had to endure horrors I wouldn't wish on my worst enemies. And for what? What's your game, Albus?"

"The same as it ever was, Remus: the greater good." They regarded one another seriously for a moment; finally, Dumbledore seemed to accept that he would get nowhere with them, and stood. "I'll have Minerva get in touch with you regarding Harry's schedule."

Remus sat back in his chair, picking his tea back up as he did. He brought the mug to his lips, watching Dumbledore evenly over the rim. _You smug son of a bitch._

"Please do."

Sirius finally pushed off the wall, deciding to intervene before Remus bit off more than he could chew with the older wizard; nose tweaking and telling off were one thing, but they didn't want to piss him off -- yet.

"Albus, it's been a pleasure as always." He walked the man to the fireplace, fixing him with a pointed look. "We'll be seeing you soon, I'm sure."

Dumbledore looked suitably uncomfortable as he went to leave.

"Yes… I have no doubt we will. Until then…"

The fireplace flashed green, and he was gone. Sirius didn't even have time to finish letting out the sigh he had been holding in before Remus was at his back, arms circling him, chin resting on his shoulder.

"Thank you for letting me handle that."

"Thank you for not punching him."

"It was a very good thing Harry came in when he did." Sirius hummed in agreement.

"Still. I think that Calming Draught was a good idea, even if it barely contained you." He turned to look Remus in the eye; they were still bright gold. " _You_ have some tension you need to work off, sir."

"Oh, have I, now?"

"Mmhmm. Dora, love, you want in, or…?" She smiled and rolled her eyes before pushing off the couch with a catlike stretch, her hair and eyes shifting to a less eye-gouging shade of blue.

"I'll let you two have your little therapy session; I'm going to go have a chat with Harry."

She disappeared up the stairs with little more than a wave and a wink. Sirius watched Remus out of the side of his eye. _Ready… and…_

"Last one with his pants off is a flobberworm!" He tried his best to make a run for it, but he didn't get more than two steps out the room before Remus pounced on him, a powerful arm hooking around his waist, slinging Sirius over his shoulder like a sack of grain, and began carrying him up to their room. “Oh _come on_ , that’s cheating!”

“Is it though?”

“Yes!” They passed Harry’s room, where he caught a fleeting glimpse of the boy rolling his eyes as he shut his door on them.

“You’re sure it’s not just because I’m winning?”

“Remus Lupin, you are the cockiest son of a b--- ah!” The werewolf had swatted his arse, hard, before throwing him across the room and onto their bed. He looked up to see Remus closing their door and putting up charms as he took off his shirt, still wearing that bloody _cocksure_ grin.

“And here I thought you _liked_ it when I forgot to be proper. Shame on me.” He winked at him. Sirius was eternally grateful he was already on the bed; between that, the grin, the view, the way his voice had deepened and taken on that distinctive lilt… he'd be a great puddle on the floor. _Bloody bastard knows it, too… damn him_.

"You know, I never could play hard to get with you."

"'Cos y'know me too well. And I know you. Wouldn't've worked, least for long." Remus watched him for a moment; Sirius knew from experience that he was gauging his mood. He'd still check to make sure he'd called it right, of course, but the guessing was half the fun. _He loves it when he's right. Like he's winning a game only he's playing._ Sirius just loved watching Remus come alive while he was with him. 

Out in the world, he always had to keep so contained. Sometimes, he knew, Remus would make a game of it, as he had tonight. See how much he could get away with talking circles around people without them realizing, the clever git. But he also knew that having to wear that mask all the time, even when it wasn't fun for him, was exhausting. Here, in their home, he could _breathe_ a bit. That Dumbledore, who they were both _so fucking angry with_ , had intruded upon their sanctuary and forced Remus back into his box, even just a little, was an affront. And what made it even worse was that they had both once held the man in such high esteem… but they had to draw their battle lines, just as Albus did. Best it was done now, up front, so there was no more question. But that wasn't what Sirius wanted to dwell on, as Remus joined him in their bed. For now, in this moment, all Sirius could focus on -- all he _would_ focus on-- was celebrating their small victory by reconsecrating their home, starting with this room, this bed.

If they were to begin again --truly begin-- it was a damn good place to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh translations:
> 
> Hey Sirius, you see---
> 
> OK?
> 
> Secret?  
> Not now.  
> Me?  
> Some. Not all.
> 
> No kill.  
> (Harry was aiming for "no murder" but didn't quite know how to say it. He's trying his best. Likewise, of COURSE he'd know the word for secret already. Marauders. Duh.)
> 
> (Edit: I actually think these are mostly correct now.)


	8. Porch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> July 1996. Back to Number Four Privet Drive.
> 
> Or: How Harry came to live with Sirius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very long chapter. Also, for the first time ever, I'm adding a specific trigger warning. If you're not cool with reading about this, feel free to skip the chapter. I will not be insulted.
> 
> TW: Child abuse, thoughts/memory of suicide/self-harm.
> 
> It also brings up a scene that was mentioned in my other story, "Ten".

The ride home from the station was definitely _perfectly_ normal.

Uncle Vernon drove the car home, steering wheel gripped in his fat, sweaty fists, clutching the thing so tightly you could almost identify knucklebones. He grumbled about traffic, utterly unintelligible beneath his bristle-brush mustache. He sounded like a bloody walrus with indigestion. So, nothing unusual there.

Aunt Petunia of course sat stiff-backed in the passenger seat, a permanent sneer glued onto her thin face. She sniffed every once in a while as though disgusted. He considered that perhaps she’d noticed her husband had all the charm of a parp in a tailored suit. However, it was more likely that she simply kept remembering _he_ had the audacity to breathe the same air as her. How very dare he.

He wanted to offer her a tissue. He restrained himself. Barely.

Dudley sat in the seat behind his father; if he pressed his bulk against the doorframe any harder, he’d pop the bloody thing off its hinges. As entertaining as it might be to watch -- and of course, to discover if he would roll or bounce once he hit the ground, and that was a good bloody question, wasn’t it? -- he did _not_ fancy getting boxed about the ears for yet another incident he was only connected to by being within a hundred metre fucking radius. But what did he know? He was just The Boy.

And besides, his attention was really more devoted to the newest addition to the annual trek back to Privet Drive: the massive Newfoundland that was gleefully shedding black fur and slobbering all over the previously lovely light grey interior of Vernon’s precious company-issued Vauxhall. His uncle would almost certainly be getting it detailed as soon as possible, but he wasn’t entirely certain that there was any conceivable way to get all of that fur out of the fabric, even with magic. He watched Sirius wriggle in farther, making sure he was getting his fur as deep into the seats as possible. _You brilliant bastard_. Vernon was going to go spare when they got home, he could feel it. A part of him hoped that this would be the day that the fat pig finally decided to make good on his countless threats to snap his neck like a toothpick, if only for the satisfaction that he would be quickly and gruesomely revenged -- _and also i don't want to do this anymore but anyway_ \-- but a larger part realized that it was likely that, at least at first, Vernon might take the Order’s warnings to heart, and… you know… _“not treat him like a servant this summer, Dursley.”_ The presence of his “guard dog” would probably be a deterrent. Though Vernon was nothing if not predictable; he gave him a week before he cracked. Less if something occurred to significantly upset his wife, which could be something as minor as "too much marmalade on her toast" so really it could just be anything, any time, for any reason. How fucking GRAND that Sirius was going to get to see how he lived, fucking hell. _If I had just been a little farther to the left, I wouldn't be fucking dealing with this_ \-- no, stop that. Now. Eyes up, fix your face, move on… in a mo'.

_FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK_

There. Better. Just in time; they arrived at Number Four. _Welcome to Little Azkaban, Sirius. Sorry._

(Click goes the bars, goodbye freedom, and right on cue, usual lecture… yes, understood, touch nothing unless told, pretend I don’t exist -- fuck, if _only_ , am I right Vernon? -- chores, yes, got it, dog stays-- no, he stays with me, you fucking… _angry bagpipe -- do not say the quiet part out loud Harry, come on you can do it okay now don’t laugh don’t laugh DON’T FUCKING LAUGH--_ )

“Wipe that bloody smirk off your face, Boy, before I wipe it off for you, hear me?”

“Yes Uncle Vernon.” _Kiss my arse, Uncle Vernon._

“Get out of my sight.”

He can hear Padfoot galloping up the stairs after him, feels a cold nose against his palm as he finds the knob to the first door on the right, which he leans into with his shoulder as he pushes it open, since it always bloody sticks. He sets Hedwig’s cage up on its usual dresser, by the window, and drops his bag on the crappy little twin bed with the broken frame and the spring sticking out right in the middle. The sheets are missing, but they’ve left a blanket at least, which is… something. _Plus I think I’ve got that blanket Mrs. Weasley made that I can use… somewhere._

“Home sweet home.” He turns back to Sirius, who is standing in the doorway, inspecting the door. There’s no issue with the door itself, he presumes, just the cat door that Sirius is sniffing at. Just a guess. He pulls a package out of his bag, and finds the loose floorboard, and begins unloading the magically preserved food he had brought into the small space. He looks up to see Sirius staring at him again, so he just brings a finger to his lips in a hushing gesture. But suddenly, Sirius was _Sirius_ , pushing the door shut, and for a moment he was reminded of that night in the Shack, where he honestly thought the man was there to kill him.

“Harry, _what the fuck?_ ” as if he was supposed to be able to narrow that down _at all_.

“What?”

“Is that a fucking… _cat flap_? These people don’t have a fucking cat. I’m not entirely certain Vernon even knows what one looks like.” He knew this conversation was coming, but he had really hoped it would have waited until maybe _after_ the first five minutes they were in the house. He wondered absently if there was any way to skirt over some of the more gruesome bits; if Sirius was supposed to coexist peacefully with the Dursleys for the summer, he needed to keep his temper in check, and if Ron’s reaction when he’d told him some of it -- not even _the worst bits_ , at that -- was any indication, Sirius might need to be restrained.

“That was from after first year, when Dobby did some magic I got blamed for. They were trying to stop me going back to Hogwarts.” There, that was self-explanatory, wasn’t it?

“Why.” Sirius was not supposed to keep prying. He was supposed to do the thing Ron did where he decided this was One of Those Things and simply got a grumpy look on his face before muttering something about arseholes and dropping it. He knew he didn’t exactly have the clearest view of the situation, being in it, but he also knew that his life was like one of those pictures that looked normal at first glance, and then got increasingly horrifying and bizarre the longer you looked at it.

“I dunno, I stopped trying to figure them out ages ago.”

“No, why did this involve a cat flap.” He considered this for a moment. This was a story that was, by his metric, relatively well known. Ron and the twins had seen it, and told their parents. Mr and Mrs Weasley could have easily told Sirius, had they chosen to do so -- clearly they had not, but that aside, he _did_ have other methods of finding out this particular information that he could employ. Frankly, he’d rather Sirius heard it from him so he wouldn’t get the slightly overdramatized version from the Weasleys -- he loved them dearly, but it wasn’t as bad as they made it out to be.

“Well the flap was so they could still feed me after they locked me in here.” Sirius had gone curiously, terrifyingly still.

“Can’t imagine they’d have been able to fit anything larger than a tin through that. Maybe a cat dish, if they really wanted to go all in.” He shrugged, not seeing the big deal. What did it matter _what_ they fed him so long as they had at all? He could hardly complain. “Were you allowed out at all?”

“Once in the morning, once in the evening, to use the loo. No more than ten minutes.”

“And were you fed in the morning or the evening?” He glared at his godfather.

“It was three times a day. S’not like they were _starving_ me.” That was a bold faced lie, and he knew it. They had been feeding him just enough that he wouldn’t die, he knew. And that was without the fact that-- “...Though I _was_ splitting it with Hedwig.”

“Evenly?” He glared at Sirius again, insulted.

“Well she was locked up too! I’m not a _monster_ , I wasn’t going to let my bloody owl starve just because--” _Damn it!_ Sirius, that complete and utter _bastard_ , had baited him into admitting how little food it actually was. He crossed his arms, looking away. _At least he’s not being smug about it_.

“How long?”

“Four days.”

“I see. Was this the first time you had been locked in your bedroom?” He dove for the loophole provided to him. _Maybe I can get the hell out of this conversation._

“Yes.”

“But not the last time. And you've been locked up other places before that.” His eyes snapped to his godfather’s face. _You motherfucker. You already knew._

“Who told?”

“Remus and Dora tipped me off; the twins had tipped _them_ off when they came to get you last summer.” _Arseholes. None of their bloody business_. “Honestly I thought they might have been exaggerating, until I got here. Now I wonder. What’s the longest you were locked up?”

“A month. Doesn’t matter, it was in the past. They haven’t done it since.” _Drop it._ “Look, we need to set some ground rules if you’re going to be staying here with me, alright?” Sirius simply raised an eyebrow at him; he took that as invitation to continue.

“Right. The Dursleys are fucking unpleasant. I get that. It’s just two weeks and then we can head back to your place, and we don't need to worry about them until next year, alright? But until that point, Sirius, I need you to follow my lead.” _I need you to follow The Rules._ “So while you’re here, you have to be Padfoot. No exceptions. The Dursleys hate magic, and if they realise that there’s _yet another_ wizard living under their roof, they will lose their bloody minds--”

“Fail to see how that’s a problem.”

“--Because _I_ still need to live here to keep the wards active, Sirius.” The man pursed his lips, unimpressed. “They will throw us both out if they realise you’re not actually a dog. So just… play along. Alright?”

“Fine.”

“Good. The other thing I need you to agree to is to just… ignore them if they start getting on my arse about things. It’s just words. I can handle words.” _Hopefully it stays just words, for both our sakes_. Sirius watched him for a moment.

“This will make it easier for you?”

“Infinitely.”

“Then I’ll do it. But anyone lays a hand on you, they lose the hand. Understand me?”

“Fine.” Sirius nodded at him sharply, seemed to shrink in on himself a bit, and then suddenly Padfoot was standing before him again, somehow still managing to look reproachful. The bear-like dog watched silently as he fussed about the room, making his living space… well… _liveable_. When he settled down on the bed to read, Padfoot rested his head on the bed next to him, reading along with him. They passed the time like this for several hours; Petunia never called him down for dinner, though he smelled it when it was served. He didn’t know what he expected.

There was a quiet knock at his door, unlike Vernon’s wall shattering pounds, or Petunia’s sharp raps. There was only one other person in the house, and it couldn’t possibly be-- but as he opened the door, he was surprised to see Dudley standing in the doorway with a decent sized plate of food. So surprised he didn’t take it from him when it was tentatively offered. Padfoot grabbed it gingerly from his hands and carried it to his desk, chuffing at him impatiently. _The cheek on this one_. He managed to croak out an awkward thanks to his cousin, before the hulking boy mumbled something about coming to pick the plate up in the morning, and lumbered back to his own bedroom.

Fucking bizarre.

He tried to split the meal with Padfoot, but the stubborn old dog refused it. So he ate, read a little more, and chatted at Sirius a bit --oddly easy to talk to him like this -- until he wound up eventually falling asleep.

He woke rather unceremoniously to the familiar rapping of knuckles against his door; Petunia barking at him to fix breakfast for everyone. Downstairs, he found the kitchen empty except for Vernon, sitting at the table with the paper. He set to work immediately, without so much as a greeting. Kettle: filled, set on the burner. Monday, so Vernon would be wanting fried eggs and bacon, with a side of toast. He grabbed five eggs, one pack of bacon, on the counter. Pans on the stove, turned to medium-low, even though he knew Vernon would complain it was taking too long to cook; he could go fuck himself, it would get cooked _correctly_ or not at all. Set up three place settings, dropping tea bags in three mugs. His aunt sniffed at Padfoot as she came in-- _yes I know to cook yours over hard, I've been cooking them for you likely longer than you've been cooking them yourself, you fucking cabbage. Go away_ \-- and greeted Her Sweet Diddy-Dumkins in a manner that made him think of slamming the sharp end of a Sugar Quill directly into his ear. Bacon in one pan, butter in the other. _Good, swirl that around a bit for cover_. Three eggs, cracked cleanly, two cooked over easy for the amorphous mass of flesh currently reading aloud from the business pages -- riveting, truly. He's missed his calling at the Globe, he has. One egg cooked over hard for Her Majesty the Royal Minge.

Vernon's bacon is finished, as is Dudders'; Petunia wants hers almost as shriveled and black as her heart. Merlin forbid there's a drop of fat left on this by the time it hits her plate, but whatever, he's not the one fucking eating it. She can be wrong, it won't be the first nor the last time. Fold these couple pieces up in a napkin for later-- _don't you fucking judge me for my pocket bacon Sirius Black or I won't share any_. Right, these eggs are done, pop 'em on this plate… here you go. Whip up the remaining two eggs in a scramble for Dudley. And flip. She's done then, good. And whatever's left of her bacon, eugh. Plated, served, out of fucking sight. And there we go. Breakfast is served. For everyone else, anyway.

_sirius please don't look at me like that please please please please this is normal this is fine it's fine i promise_

Aunt Petunia is listing his chore for the day: Gardening. Great. Well, could be worse. He could be fixing the shed again. Best go get started on that then--

"Erm… Thanks for breakfast, Harry"

_Excuse me, what the fuck?_

"You're, erm… you're welcome, I guess?"

Did Dudley fucking Dursley just thank him for cooking? _Is he high? Am I high? Maybe I'm still in the hospital wing, that would explain-- ah, bugger that hurt, yeah no, decidedly awake and not under the influence_. So obviously Dudley was hitting his supply a little too hard last night or something. Doesn't make any bloody sense.

He resolved to instead focus on deadheading these begonias that Petunia was so proud of for some reason. Not about Dudley suddenly developing manners. Not about the plate of food. It had to be some kind of a trick, or trap. Dudley didn't do _nice_. He didn't _help_ people. He was a spoiled bully, like Malfoy, and he fucking got off on the pain of others. He always had. What the fuck was his _angle_. Padfoot nudged his side, whining. So much for not thinking about it. Apparently he didn't have control over that either.

He didn't have any control over anything, did he? Not where he lived, or _whether_ he lived, or whether his _parents_ lived, or what he wore or ate or thought or

_sharp twisting burning choking claws in his brain around his chest his throat speaking words he wasn't saying this isn't me i don't want this i don't i don't i don't stop it please make it stop stop stop stop me stop me_

_Kill me_

_Enough. Stop._

He forced himself to breathe, deep, in through his nose, letting it out slow in a hiss through his teeth. Padfoot was sitting in front of him, forehead pressed against his, fingers gripping thick black fur instead of his own arms --raw, stinging, was that blood on his hands?-- a steady, solid presence he never knew he needed so much.

He was torn. He hated that Sirius was seeing him like this. _Hated_ that he was seeing him have one of these uncomfortable little turns that had been happening ever since Voldemort had worn him like an old coat, since Dumbledore told him, in no uncertain terms, that his life wasn't his own. That it never was. Hated that he was seeing the way he lived, here with these _people_ that hated him, and would probably send a gift basket to Voldemort when he finally succeeded in killing him.

_Come on, Harry, can't think like that. Pull it together, you're damn near sixteen. No fucking crying. Not here, not now._

But while he hated that Sirius was seeing this broken, fucked up side of him that he normally kept tightly under wraps --sometimes painfully so -- he was so _fucking_ grateful to have anything, _anyone_ , to hold on to when he felt like he was drowning. And if he was really honest with himself, that was… more often than not, anymore. What happened at the Ministry had _terrified_ him; he wasn't ashamed to admit that, at least to himself. And this prophecy…

_Either must die at the hand of the other  
For neither can live while the other survives_

At least at the Ministry, he could strike back… maybe not well, but it was something at least. Against prophecy though… kind of hard to punch fate in its stupid, smug fucking face.

He let go of Sirius, murmuring he was alright, and continued venting frustrations on the garden for hours until dusk; he was directed straight upstairs to the loo, since apparently he was too filthy to be seen by decent, _normal_ folk. He was ravenously hungry. He was thirsty. But more importantly he was caked in soil and sweat and just wanted to... not be.

He stood with his head under the water, watching rivulets of blackened, filthy water run down the drain. He hoped it stained. He hoped it _didn't_ stain. He was staring at Dudley's fancy straight blade razor sitting on the sink-- _guess he shaves now, that's… strange_ \-- and wondered a little distantly how sharp it was. How deep would it go, if he drew it down his arm? How deep did he _have_ to go to cut this out of himself? It would stain the white tile worse than his dirt, that much he knew. Red was a bitch to get out. How long would it take anyone to find him? Would they bother to tell his friends what happened? Would they care, or be relieved? He could--

Snuffling and scratching at the door. _Padfoot_. Trance broken, he finished washing in a hurry, trying to ignore the cold, shaky, twisting feeling in his stomach. He toweled off, and got ready for bed, avoiding looking at the sink as much as possible. He could hear the television downstairs, dinner once more having long ago concluded without him. Padfoot met him at the door, practically herding him back to his room. He wanted to be annoyed by the smothering behavior, but couldn't quite muster two fucks to rub together.

There was a fresh plate of food waiting for him on his desk, with a smaller plate on the floor. _Don't tell me…_

Padfoot chuffed at him again, the intent clear: eat or I will force feed you, kid.

He ate. He started a letter to Ron. He discarded it, tried again. Discarded that one too. Threw his notebook across the room in disgust before falling back onto the bed with a frustrated growl. The brief stab of anger felt… not _good_ , but something more than nothing.

Padfoot rested his head on the bed next to him again.

He wanted to stop being angry, but it kept the void at bay, so he sank into it. He wanted to understand why Dudley was trying to be nice to him, but he couldn't figure out an angle that made any sense.

He wanted to sleep, and if he was lucky, not wake up.

\----------------------

"How bad is it?"

"I know we thought the twins were exaggerating, but they were, if you can believe it, _downplaying_ it. Of all the times. His fucking door..."

"Is he alright? Are you"

"He's an anxious mess. His cousin's been sneaking him food and he keeps treating it like it's poisoned. Doesn't trust it. Won't eat until I basically force him."

"I'm sorry, sneaking him _food?_ They're not feeding him?"

"Not once. He's apparently not allowed meals."

"Why the fuck not?"

"Ostensibly because of last summer. They didn't get the opportunity to punish him so they're doing it now."

"And he's just… going with that?"

"Apparently. He's nicked some food… kid's got some impressive sleight of hand. But he's also got a stash of food he brought, that he keeps under a loose floorboard… no, really, first thing he did when he got into his room was load it up with food he'd smuggled in. He was _prepared_ for this, love. This isn't the first time."

"Esgob anwyl…"

"As for me… Remus, I'm not going to lie, I'm fucking terrified right now. I haven't been this bloody scared since Godric's Hollow."

"You need to get him out of there. Now. Bring him home."

"He won't go until the wards are charged. Dumbledore has him convinced. And I'm not going to force him."

"Do you think there's going to be a problem?"

"It feels like I'm sitting on a fucking powder keg. It's just going to take one thing to set it all off… shite, I’ve got to go, love, I think he’s having a nightmare."

"Take care of him. I'm going to make preparations here. If anything happens, Sirius..."

"I know. Straight home."

"Fi'n caru ti."

"To hell and back."

\-----------------

Another morning waking to the rapping of knuckles at his door; Padfoot, at some point, had climbed into the bed with him, his giant head resting across his chest. He felt a low growl rumble in the dog’s throat; he gave him a pat, hoping he’d get let him up. Petunia wouldn’t wait long before she came in and yanked him out of bed and downstairs, by his hair if need be, though a morbid side of him wondered what would happen if she did. Would that count as raising a hand to him? He wondered… Padfoot let out a long yawn before getting up and stretching like a cat, effectively releasing him. _Well, that was a fun theoretical exercise while it lasted_.

Just like the prior morning-- and every other morning-- when he entered the kitchen Vernon was already seated at the table like a gelatinous, pinstriped boulder, reading the paper. Tuesday, like Monday, was typically a busy day for Vernon, so it would be bacon and eggs again. His stomach growled as he dug through the refrigerator for the bacon, and grabbed another five eggs. He missed Hogwarts food. The elves would make pancakes on weekends. He fucking loved pancakes, particularly _those_ pancakes. They must add something to them to get them so fucking light, they just melt in your mouth like sweet, delicious clouds. He resolved then and there to see if he could trade Dobby an old shirt for the recipe. Hermione couldn’t be mad at him if he traded for it, right? He was positive Ron would have his back. Hell, he could probably get all the lads in on it. Maybe they could make up a silly acronym for their group, like… Pancake Recipe Acquisitions Team, or P.R.A.T? _Ohh, that’s a good one, I’ll have to remember that. Even Hermione would laugh at that one, I bet. She’s gotten better at taking jokes_. And she probably wouldn’t even fight them too hard on it when she discovered he just wanted the recipe so he could make them himself -- no elves involved. Just him and some motherfucking pancakes... fuck, he was hungry.

“Boy! Turn the ruddy heat up on the stove! I’ve an important meeting with the executives this morning and I can’t waste time waiting for you to faff about with my breakfast!”

To emphasise this point, Uncle Vernon reached over Harry’s shoulder himself and turned the heat up to high on both burners. _Well, no way I can cook anything properly… bacon’s already started, but I’d best get the eggs done before the heat ruins the pans_. He knew he needed to work fast; the meal wouldn’t be good when it was done, but he could avoid burning it if he just--

“Get away from my kitchen, you filthy mongrel!” A yelp slipped out of Padfoot’s mouth as the pointed tip of Aunt Petunia’s high heeled shoe made contact with his belly. _Sirius!_

“Don’t kick him! If you want him to back off, just tell him!”

“What I want is for this beast to be gone! Oh, my poor carpet! The _hair_!” He heard rather than saw Vernon get up from his chair.

“Now, now, Pet, if you want the beast out of the house, I’ll see to it, don’t you worry.”

“But Vernon, what if _they_ \--”

“They can hardly get upset at _us_ if the bloody thing gets loose--”

“Uncle Vernon--”

“And if he _happens_ to be struck by a passing vehicle, then, well, that’s very unfortunate, but perhaps the boy should be more careful next time!”

“Uncle Vernon, you can’t!”

The hulking man turned back around slowly to look at him, a dangerous glint in his piggy little eyes. "Oh, I _can't_ , eh?"

He had broken a Rule: no backchat. It was a common enough one; he’d probably, at worst, get slapped around the head a bit. No big deal, he just needed to follow the swings, and not tense up. It would be over in a moment, as long as Sirius could keep his head. He just needed to buy time--

It was at that precise moment that the smell hit him; smoke was rising from the pan. The bacon had burned. _Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no_. He couldn’t focus on precisely what was being shouted at him in that moment -- _did it matter?_ \-- only that his uncle was centimetres away from his face, spittle flying. He wanted to pop off, but his voice caught in his throat, the spark of defiance he so frequently depended on flickering out, and suddenly he felt like when he was five and he’d knocked into Petunia’s favorite vase, and it was an accident but it didn’t matter--

There was a blur of movement, and he saw stars, a sharp pain exploding in the back of his head, pressure against his throat _crushing choking air burning in his lungs there was no air no air_ shouting and snarling and _release_. He could breathe again, if only he could remember how. The room spun around him. He touched the back of his head gingerly; his fingers came away red. So much red, all over Aunt Petunia’s cream linoleum flooring. She’d shout at him for bleeding on the floor again. _i’m sorry i won’t do it again i won’t i won’t i won’t please don’t_ but someone was screaming now. Men shouting. Vernon, and someone else. He felt a large pair of hands grab at him and he _please no no no no no no stop go away i’ll be good i promise i promise please no_ felt himself be lifted up and was struck by a sudden realization that he didn’t really want to go, not yet, not when he finally had a chance to go live with Sirius.

Sirius.

Sirius was there. _The snarling… is he--?_ The room spun again. _Take stock. Pull it together. You’ve faced worse_. There was blood all over the wall. The doorway out of the kitchen was unobstructed, Aunt Petunia no longer standing in it. _So where…?_ It was difficult to locate her when the room refused to focus and insisted on spinning, and _fuck_ he felt sick--there. She was back by the table, kneeling by -- Uncle Vernon? More blood, all over his front, his arm coated in it. _Did he kill me?_ He couldn’t see Sirius anymore, couldn’t hear him. _Did he kill--- no no no no no no_. Someone was standing in front of him, hulking figure, shouting at-- _not me? Not shouting at me? Shouting at… them? Who…?_ He felt something cold press against the back of his head. He blinked hard, trying to pull everything into focus, to see who was standing in front of him, when he realized… it was Dudley. Dudley had pulled him up and sat him in a chair, holding something cold -- _ice?_ \-- against the back of his head as he shouted down his parents, who were looking at him -- at their son, not at _him_ \-- with horror. The sick, twisting feeling got worse, and then-- _well at least I've gotten you back for sicking up on my shoes last summer, you tosser… how's it feel?_ Dudley turned to him, his expression one of… concern? _What is this? Who are you?_ He could hear he was speaking, but couldn’t make out the words. The larger boy leaned in close, looking him in the eyes, before he turned towards--

Sirius was alive, and he was _Sirius_ , and... he was putting something in his pocket? He couldn't tell what, couldn't see properly. _Where are my glasses?_ He reached up to feel his face; he was wearing them still, so why couldn't he see? Someone new arrived. A woody smell, half floral, half spice, _familiar_ , surrounded him as the newcomer leaned in close. He felt arms move around him, picking him up gently and--

“It’s going to be okay, Harry. We’re going home.” Everything looked like he was viewing it through a tube, all black around the edges, and getting blacker still, sucking him down. But he couldn’t go under yet, he wanted to ask--

“...Remus…?”

_...What’s home?..._

\-----------------------

Dudley wasn't sure if he had been looking forward to seeing his cousin or not. Last he had seen him, he'd just sicked all over himself and then accidentally accused Harry of attacking him.

He hadn't been _trying_ to, of course. He was just so terrified he couldn't make his words work right, make it more clear that Harry had _helped_ him, not hurt him… and then it was too late. His parents had taken what little he’d been able to say and run with it. And even if he knew how to apologize, he didn't know how to contact him. As a result, he'd had a very strange, uncomfortable year, slowly coming to an even more uncomfortable realization:

His parents were not the wonderful people he'd always thought they were.

He knew they loved him, very much -- too much, really, sometimes-- and of course, he loved them as well. But he had grown up being told that his cousin was a Dangerous Freak Who Was Not To Be Trusted, and that everything bad that ever happened to any of them was Entirely His Fault. His bullying -- which thanks to a long chat with Coach, he now was beginning to recognize for what it was -- was not only tolerated but _encouraged_. And that wasn't even getting into what his parents did directly, themselves…It was a kick to the bits, thinking about it, but once he had seen it, he couldn't _not_ see it. 

What's more, his boxing training left him better able to read Harry's body language. He could see the way his expression had immediately closed off when he saw them in the crowd. His shoulders tightened, and he kept them within view at all times, always ready to react to anything. Harry's stance had reminded him strongly of a counter-puncher he had fought against: deceptively quick on his feet, sharp-eyed and observant, calculating, able to find and exploit any opening and use it to launch his own attacks while his opponent was off-balance. Harry was watching them all carefully, waiting for an attack, his responses half-planned, half-reflexive. Reflexes which Dudley now realized had been beaten into him, and should never have been.

_And I was one of them that did it to him._

He'd felt ashamed, also a little afraid of the massive dog that he’d found out was now staying with them, so he'd tried to make himself as small as possible on the platform, and avoided eye contact with his cousin during the tense ride home. It was uncomfortable as hell. But he could tell, now that he was _looking_ , that Harry was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Just a matter of when. Dudley realized he couldn't blame him; his parents were in fits over the dog, and by getting threatened on the platform by a "gang of jumped-up weirdos". Dudley privately thought his dad didn't understand what a real threat was; yeah, the bloke in the bowler with the weird rolling eye was scary looking, but the real danger, in Dudley’s view, had been in the tall bloke in the back, the quiet one with the gold eyes. Something in his voice, despite sounding perfectly cordial, had the promise of pain in it.

Harry hadn’t been down for dinner, and his mum only set for three: clearly he wasn’t expected (or rather, welcome). He hadn’t heard what his dad had told Harry when they got home, but he could guess he was being belatedly punished for the previous summer. It made something unpleasant twist in his gut. He grabbed his plate and began to load it back up.

“Still hungry, Pumpkin?”

“Yeah, but I want to go eat in my room. Piers lent me his copy of Duke Nukem, and I wanted to play it.”

“Of course, Sweetums, I’ll come collect your plate later, alright?” That wasn’t going to work.

“Nah, I’ll bring it down in the morning.” His mum cooed and fussed for a few moments about how sweet he was, and he let her, since it was faster than trying to swat her off like he truly wanted. He took the plate upstairs, made a big show of going into his room and firing up the Playstation, and then tiptoed as quietly as he could over to Harry’s door.

And then he just looked at it for a minute. At the cat flap that his dad had installed a few years ago, which he knew his mum had used to shove food through to him at one point. She’d make a delicious meal for the rest of the family and then take up a bit of toast or soup for “that one”. He had laughed about it at the time, but now he felt sick. Something like anger filled him for a moment, giving him the strength to knock on the door -- albeit lightly, so his parents wouldn’t hear. _Maybe he’s asleep._ The door opened after a beat, and suddenly Harry was _right there_ and he could apologize, properly, for everything.

Or, just, you know, offer him the plate. Which… he wasn’t taking. _Why is he staring at me like that?_ He realized half a second too late that the dog was reaching out for the plate, and he was about to shout at the great bloody beast to get away -- but it just gently took the plate out of his hands and went and set it on the old desk by the window. Harry didn’t follow, so the bloody thing woofed at him, real soft, to get his attention. That seemed to snap him out of it.

“I… erm… th...thanks, I think.”

“Yeah, erm… no problem. I’ll, erm… pick the plate up in the morning, so don’t… don’t worry about it.” He turned tail and fled back to his room like the bloody coward he was.

He used to think he wasn’t afraid of anything. He knew better now.

_He could hear scratching coming from inside the cupboard. Harry had been in there for two weeks now. He’d missed school; no one had questioned it. Harry always missed school. Daddy pounded the door. “Quiet down in there, boy!” “Please, Uncle Vernon, let me out! Please! I can’t--” “QUIET DOWN OR I’LL MAKE IT THE LAST SOUND YOU EVER MAKE, BOY!” A muffled sob, and then… nothing. For two more weeks, nothing._

_“DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!” Something gripped his wrists, corpse-cold and slimy, pulling them away from his face, rattling breaths coming closer to his lips, stinking of rot--_

_The frying pan connected with the side of Harry’s head. He fell down with a heavy thud, twitching like mad. “Oh you USELESS-- Dudley, popkin, turn the freak over on his side so he doesn’t choke, there’s my sweet baby boy. Mummy needs to put some ice on his head since he’s so very clumsy and fell on it. I’ll get you an ice cream too, for being so helpful.” The blood was coming from the side of his head that she had hit, but she didn’t care._

_“DUDLEY? DUDLEY! GET IT!”_

_Dudley watched him standing on a stool in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. Watched Harry as he grabbed a knife out of the block and inspected it with a blank look on his face. Watched as Harry didn’t even blink as he used both hands to drive the knife into his own stomach, and twist._

He woke with a start, shaking, covered in sweat. It was the middle of the night. Dudley reached under the bed, grabbed his fags and lighter, and snuck out to the backyard. He was not expecting to find someone already there. The man turned around when he heard him come out; he was about half a head taller than Dudley, long, wavy dark hair, and oddly familiar silver eyes.

“Who’re you?”

“... Sirius. And you’re Dudley, right?” _Sirius. That was Harry’s godfather’s name, wasn’t it? The escaped murderer? What’s he doing here?_ Dudley knew he wasn’t nearly as smart as Harry was, for certain, but he’d seen enough magic by this point in his life that he had a theory. And that theory was that magic people -- wizards -- could turn _anyone_ into _anything_.

“Yeah. Are you the dog?” The man stared at him, eyes widening in the moonlight, before he let out a bark-like laugh.

“Well, look at you. I am, as a matter of fact. That a problem?” He figured Harry knew already. Harry knew everything.

“Nah.” He offered up his pack to the man-- to Sirius-- who looked surprised at the offer, but took a stick with a grateful nod, putting it between his lips and lighting it with his fingers. _That was really cool._ Sirius took a long drag, letting it out slowly, watching the smoke curl up into the sky. He watched the moon for a moment before he finally spoke again.

“You alright? You seemed a little unsettled when you came out.” He wasn’t certain how comfortable he was talking to this bloke he just met about his feelings. Sirius snorted. “Look, I understand tensions are running a mite high at the moment. But I’m not your enemy as long as you’re not his.”

“I’m not. I owe him.” He glared into his hands for a moment. “I just don’t know why he saved me.”

“S’what he does.”

“How though? How wasn’t he afraid?” And the man looked at him seriously.

“Oh he was plenty afraid. He just kept moving despite that. As for you… I really wouldn’t worry about it. It’s not a weakness to have a healthy fear of dementors… they’re one of the foulest creatures in this world. I would know.” Dudley thought about that for a moment, before he remembered that Sirius had supposedly escaped from prison. And his mum had said that these… dementors… guarded the _wizard_ prison. So if that was the case... 

“Did you really kill a bunch of people?”

“Nah. Got framed by the rat that did. Though, to be fair, I _was_ trying to kill _him_ at the time.”

“Sucks. You on the lam?”

“Not anymore; name got cleared properly a couple weeks ago. ‘Bout bloody time.”

“Why you hiding out as a dog, then?”

“So I can spend time with my godson without offending your parents’ delicate sensibilities more than absolutely necessary.”

“They’re still not too thrilled about that, you know.”

“Imagine they’d be less thrilled about _this_.” He gestured to himself, wearing a black t-shirt with a crossed out swastika, declaring “Nazi Punks Fuck Off”, and a well-worn leather jacket that he noted looked far more comfortable than his own. He was probably right; even without the magic, he looked like what his mum would call “a ruffian.”

It didn’t escape his notice that it was pretty damn close to what he normally wore, however, but his parents just called him “spirited” when he did it. Bit fucked, honestly.

He grunted in agreement and took a long drag; they continued to smoke together in silence, watching the smoke move across the moon until their cigarettes were spent. Sirius finally stood up, stretched-- Dudley noticed he had a tattoo of what might have been a bite mark on his hip -- and cracked his back a bit, grumbling about getting old.

“You don’t look _that_ old.”

“I’ll be turning thirty-seven in November. Practically ancient.” He pursed his lips. “Anyway, thanks for the smoke... I really bloody needed that tonight. Hope you’re able to get back to sleep.”

“Hopefully.” He paused. “Harry sleeping alright?” Sirius, who had begun walking away, stopped.

“About as well as I’d expect, all things considered. But certainly better than he would have on an empty stomach, so… thank you.” Dudley just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “See you around, kid.”

“See ya.”

He waited a few minutes before heading back in himself. Full moon or no, he didn’t like being out in the dark alone. Not anymore.

The following morning, after picking up the empty plate from Harry’s room -- he had left it next to the door for easy retrieval; good man -- he came downstairs to see Sirius-the-dog waiting patiently outside the kitchen, watching Harry as he buzzed around the stove while his mother nagged at him about cooking her eggs all the way through. Dudley had never really watched his cousin cook before, always more concerned with the food itself than the process. His parents would always bitch and moan about Harry taking too long to cook anything, or that he would make a huge mess, but as far as he could see the other boy was quick and efficient, managing two pans at once and cleaning as he went along. His mum turned around and saw him (“Good morning! How did my sweet Diddy-Dumkins sleep last night?” “Morning Mum, fine, thanks.”) and his dad was reading something aloud from the newspaper; he tuned him out, nodding and grunting at what he thought were the appropriate times. He didn’t know what it was about, nor did he particularly care. He was watching Harry cracking two eggs cleanly in one hand, using the other to pour the water from the whistling kettle into the three waiting mugs.

Three. None for himself then. Dudley felt another seed of discontent take root; it was bullshit that Harry always had to cook breakfast, and then his mum could just _decide_ he didn’t get to eat any of it. And why did Harry just go along with it? Like, he’d see how many plates Mum would set out and then… what, resign himself to not eating? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

Harry set a plate down in front of him, his eyes darting back to the hulking, bear-like dog watching balefully from the doorway. _Sorry Sirius, I don’t like this either_. His mum was telling his cousin he was to work in the garden today -- he didn’t understand the specifics of what she was asking, but Harry seemed to. Just like cooking, he was really good at working outside. It occurred to him that it might have been because he had so much practice over the years. He sipped his tea, watching his cousin clean up the remainder of the dishes from cooking, and just as the younger boy went to leave, he decided.

"Erm… thanks for breakfast, Harry." His cousin fixed him with an absolutely bewildered look.

"You're, erm… you're welcome, I guess?" He opened his mouth to say something else, and then send to think better of it, instead shaking his head and walking out the door to the yard, Sirius at his heels. He could hear his mother tutting next to him.

"Oh, Dudders, that's very sweet of you, love, but you don't need to thank him. It's the least he could do for you after all the trouble he's caused." She smiled cheerfully and patted him in the arm. He frowned at her.

"What trouble, though?" His parents shared an alarmed look.

"Dudley, he set those nasty _things_ on you last summer, don't you remember?"

"Mum, Harry _saved_ me from them. It wasn't his fault." His father harrumphed, folding his paper with a snap.

"They were here because _he's_ here. Wouldn't have troubled normal folk like us at all otherwise, would they? But no, _have_ to keep him here, don't we, Pet?" He glared at his wife, who returned it with a steely gaze of her own. "Even though just having him here is attracting _things_ that supposedly eat _souls_. Endangering our family." Dudley wrinkled his nose, disgusted.

"Harry's our family too." He watched his father's expression darken. His mother wiped her mouth primly with her napkin.

"Dudley, you were supposed to meet your friends this morning, weren't you? If you're finished eating, I'll clean up." He looked between his parents, frowning. He could tell he was being managed. He didn't much like it.

"Fine. I'll be back for supper." He grabbed his jacket and left the house without turning back. As he headed down the walk, however, he caught a glimpse of Harry, kneeling down in the flower bushes, his face totally blank. Sirius was there, comforting him, he could see… but it didn't stop the knot of anxiety from tightening in the pit of his stomach. It didn't stop Dudley from remembering the slightly damp, muted thud of the knife as it sank into his cousin's ribs; the way pale, thin fingers stained red with blood as they held the handle in a white knuckled grip. The sweet, metallic smell. The way he had pitched forward, a look of _relief_ on his face as he fell.

The look of bewilderment on his face from being _thanked._

He watched as Harry gripped the dog's fur, and forced himself to continue moving. _He won't want my help. Sirius has him, he has to._

He came home at five, a little stoned, and still feeling anxious. Harry was still in the yard, covered in dirt and sweat. He wasn't as sunburned as Dudley had expected him to be; he suspected Sirius had done something to protect him. Good. He noted some dried blood on Harry's upper arms, though, almost as if-- oh. _He scratched himself again. Jesus Christ._

He caught Sirius' eye. The black dog trotted over to him; Harry too absorbed in what he was doing to notice. Dudley crouched down in front of him, scratching him behind the ears.

"Been out here all day?" Sirius nodded. "Figured." He shifted uncomfortably, watching Harry digging in the mulch, trying to think through the dopey haze of a good way to warn Sirius without having to tell him the whole story; there wasn't time, and he'd take too long with it now anyway. "Look, don't... leave him alone too long, okay? He can get a little funny sometimes, when he gets real still like that. You know what I mean?" He looked the dog in the eyes, and saw that he understood perfectly. Dudley was just confirming what he had already suspected, most likely. Sirius struck him as a smart bloke, probably even smarter than Harry. Certainly smart enough to know how to turn himself into a dog to fly under the radar, which was pretty cool. And right now, he was the only adult Dudley could trust with his cousin. He nodded, gave him a pat, and went inside.

His mother already had dinner set -- three place settings again -- and was loading his plate up for him by the time he sat down. Dinner conversation was mostly just his dad blathering on about his Very Important Meeting with the Very Important Executives, and how this was sure to be The Big One, where he would inevitably be promoted to some big shot position he had been aiming for since Dudley could remember. It wasn't that he didn't _want_ his father to get promoted --far from it, in fact. He just couldn't bring himself to _care_. What would a promotion change? Oh, he was sure he'd get his own car, and whatever else he wanted. His mother would likely get the kitchen remodel that she had been wanting for so long. Probably a brand new telly, fancy clothes and jewelry. But none of that would affect Harry, who would still live in the tiny bedroom full of broken things with a trunk full of hand me down clothes that didn't fit him right, and an empty stomach. It didn't sit right with him.

The door opened, and Harry came in. Dudley only saw his face for a moment before his mum herded him upstairs, claiming he was too dirty to come into Her Kitchen. He knew she just wanted him out of the way while they finished dinner.

He managed to find a way to sneak two more plates up with him -- now that he knew Sirius was a person and not a dog, he felt really bad about not copping him a plate the night prior -- and saw that Harry was still in the shower. He set the plates down on the desk, seeing Sirius sitting on the bed, watching the doorway. Harry really had been in there too long. He motioned for Sirius to follow him, and pressed his ear up against the door, listening carefully.

He could only hear the water running. Just running, no sounds of someone moving under the stream. Sirius must have seen the alarm on his face; he jumped forward, scratching and whining at the door. He couldn't help but sigh with relief when he heard movement inside, and the shower turn off. _Must have startled him out of it_. He and Sirius nodded at one another, and he hurried back down to his own room.

He'd pick the plates up again in the morning.

He slept through the night, surprisingly. He got out of bed and got cleaned up, noting that Harry was already downstairs cooking again. He could hear his dad barking something, most likely at Harry given the tone. _Come on, Dad, it's too early to be an arsehole_. But then he heard his mother shout, and a dog yelp, followed by Harry shouting. _Oh fuck_. He hastily pulled his shoes on, racing downstairs as he smelled something burning--

"THAT'S IT! NOW YOU'VE DONE IT YOU NO-GOOD MONGREL! DISRESPECTING MY WIFE WASN'T ENOUGH FOR YOU, EH? HAD TO GO AND DESTROY OUR MEAL, JUST TO SPITE US, DID YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL WRETCH? AFTER ALL WE'VE DONE FOR YOU! I'LL SHOW YOU-- I'LL SKIN THAT RUDDY DOG OF YOURS ALIVE AND I'LL MAKE YOU WATCH, FREAK! HOW'S THAT, EH? LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU, BOY--"

\--and entered the kitchen just in time to see his father grab Harry by the throat and slam him full-force into the wall. All at once, hell broke loose. Sirius lunged with a savage snarl, his jaws closing around the meaty wrist, twisting and tearing. His father let go of Harry's throat with a scream, falling down on the floor. Harry sank to his knees, touching the back of his head gingerly, and Dudley saw the blood stain on the wall from where he had been thrown into it. Red stains were blossoming over his collar, his hands smearing blood across the kitchen floor.

_"Mummy needs to put some ice on his head since he’s so very clumsy and fell on it."_

Dudley ran to the freezer, grabbing a large fistful of ice and wrapping it in a clean dish towel. He grabbed Harry off the floor--his cousin flinched and shied away from him, but was too disoriented to fight him more than some half-hearted squirming. He placed him in a chair, pressing the ice against the back of his head, and turned to where his parents were pressed up against the wall, screaming, trying to defend themselves from a very angry man-bear-dog.

"Oi, Sirius! Knock it the fuck off and give me a hand here!" The dog, still growling, turned back to look at them, his eyes widening when he spotted all the blood. Suddenly, Sirius --on two legs-- was running over, face ashen.

"Is he alright?"

"Head's cracked open, I'm staunching it. He's probably got a concussion." Sirius swore, pulling a mirror out of his pocket as he turned and stormed out of the kitchen.

"Fuck this -- REMUS LUPIN!"

"Sirius? What's wrong?" _Hang on, is he talking to someone through a pocket mirror?_

"Get here, now."

Dudley watched Sirius run up the stairs as he jammed the mirror back into his pocket as if he was slamming a phone back down on the receiver. He turned back to where his parents were again.

"The fuck is wrong with you? Both of you!" They just gaped at him, clearly aghast at his tone. _Or maybe the fact that I'm not cowering with them for once._ "You could have killed him! Again!"

"Dudley, I know you're upset Sweetie, but--"

"Upset? Upset! Really! No, honestly I'm just tired of seeing Harry have to literally spill his blood all over this floor so you two can feel better about yourselves. He didn't deserve this, from either of you!" The admission felt good, but he was too angry to fully appreciate it.

"Dudley, you don't understand--"

"The only thing I don't understand is why we can't just treat him normal!"

"Because he's not normal, Dudley, he's a freak!"

"He's my fucking cousin!" His cousin who was currently puking on his shoes. _Shite, that's a bad sign_. He looked into Harry's face, checking his eyes: they were glazed, unfocused, and his pupils were blown wide open. _Definitely a concussion, bare minimum_. He heard Sirius coming back down the stairs, and heard the front door open. “He’s gonna need to see a doctor,” he called. Dudley looked over his shoulder to see Sirius placing a miniature trunk in his pocket, face like a thundercloud. The golden-eyed man from the train station strode in behind him, freezing in the doorway as he took stock of the situation. The man’s eyes flicked to the blood on the floor, on the wall, on his cousin, bleeding and disoriented in the chair. On him, trying his damned best to help Harry with what little he could remember. On his parents, who were trying to crawl away from him on the floor, his father’s face white as a sheet, in high contrast with the scarlet blood all over his front. His hand was mangled.

“Sirius.” The man’s voice was soft and deep, his tone measured, gold eyes locked on his mother’s face. “Have you got everything?”

“I do, yes. Did you give Dora a heads up?”

“She was with me when you called. I’m going to get him somewhere safe, and then I will be back. It’s time we had a very long-overdue chat.”

“I’ll make sure they don’t go anywhere.” The man nodded at Sirius before turning to Dudley.

“You said he has a concussion?” Dudley nodded. “The ice was a good idea in the short term. Thank you. I can take him from here.” He backed up, letting the man step in to pick Harry up; it did not escape Dudley’s notice how easily he did so. He was clearly much stronger than he appeared.

“It’s going to be okay, Harry. We’re going home.” Harry looked up at him, struggling to focus. Dudley could tell he was fighting to stay conscious.

“...Remus…?” That was his name, the one Sirius had yelled into the mirror. _He called him here_. Harry’s eyes rolled back up in his head, and he went limp in Remus’ arms, just before the man _twisted_ and disappeared with a crack, taking Harry with him.

He was only gone for a few moments, during which Sirius stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a menacing shadow, staring hard at Dudley’s parents, and he found himself wondering if the hard edge to him had come before or after prison, because he could definitely understand how someone could think this man capable of murder. He heard a crack outside, and Remus came back in through the door again. There was a bit of blood staining his jacket. Somehow, even having watched Sirius attack his father, knowing that he was capable of at least attempting murder, he was still more afraid of Remus.

“Petunia. It’s been a while since we’ve spoken properly. I think the last time was at your parents’ funeral, wasn’t it?” His mother stared up at him, her face pale.

“You’re one of her friends.”

“I am.” He took his jacket off, passing it to Sirius who took it without even blinking, and rolled his sleeves up. Dudley could see he had a tattoo on his forearm of an antler and some lilies. _Harry’s mum’s name was Lily, wasn’t it?_ “And you are her sister. Harry’s aunt, his last remaining flesh and blood. Aside from your son, at least.” She made a strange, strangled sound, her eyes darting back and forth between him and Remus.

“ _We_ don’t make a habit of harming people’s children, Petunia,” Sirius growled from behind him, noting her concern. She sneered at him.

"If _you_ were so concerned about him, then, why didn't _you_ take the boy in? We never wanted him--"

" _Obviously_. But we weren't given a say in the matter. He was _stolen_ from us." Remus reached out, resting a hand on Sirius' arm.

"Enough. You don't want him? Fine. We do. We'll take him off your hands."

"Tell that to your headmaster."

"Oh, we will have words with him, I assure you." Dudley had the distinct impression more than words were going to be had. He watched his dad puff up with anger. _Damnit, keep quiet, you idiot._

“Good! Take the little beast then, we’ll be well shot of him! Of all of you! Bloody _barking_ mad, all of you! Nothing but trouble since the day he darkened our door--”

“Cer i grafu, y cont tew. Rwyt ti’n esgus fach pathetig am ddyn.” Remus was _snarling_ now; he was feeling quite justified in his unexplained fear of the man. His mother, meanwhile, turned an interesting shade of red.

“I beg your pardon!”

“ _No_. You don’t get to sit there and clutch your pearls and play high and mighty, ‘Tune. Had fates been reversed and _your_ child been the one dumped on _her_ doorstep like rubbish, I can promise you that Lily would have taken him in and treated him like her own. We _all_ would have."

"That's completely different! We weren't equipped to deal with him!" This time, Sirius stepped forward, hissing through his teeth.

"Try fucking _feeding_ him. Or, I dunno, _not_ throwing him into walls and shite. Usually a good place to start with kids, and clearly you were capable of _that_ much, since _your_ kid’s fine -- no offense, Dudley.” He shrugged.

“S’true.” Remus looked at him speculatively for a moment.

“You know, ‘Tune--”

“ _Don’t call me that._ ”

“--maybe, if basic compassion isn’t enough to move you to give a fuck about your sister’s son, this might.” He pulled up a chair, spinning it around as he sat astride it, leaning casually over the back. “Last summer, when the Dementors came, Harry used a charm to protect himself and your son from them. That was the magic that he was nearly expelled from school for performing.” Dudley thought hard, remembering the series of letters that had arrived that night.

“I remember that. He had to go to a hearing, didn’t he?”

“He did, yes. It was fine, he had cause. But that charm he used… most adults have trouble performing it. Harry learned it at the tender age of thirteen because he’s bloody terrified of Dementors and they were guarding the school at the time.” He paused to glare at Sirius, who put his hands up defensively.

“I didn’t _ask_ them to send the whole guard after me.”

“Well intentions aside, they _did_. So Harry learned this charm. He had power and skill to spare, but he struggled -- immensely, mind you -- with the main component of the spell: a happy memory. It’s incidentally the same reason he has such trouble with Dementors in the first place. Just doesn’t have enough happy memories to fight them off. Now, Sirius, you were telling me that Harry seemed particularly unhappy here, wasn’t that right?”

“If by ‘particularly unhappy’ you mean a miserable, anxious mess, then yes.”

“In your experience, is the Patronus charm easy to cast when you’re in an environment that isn’t already conducive to generating happy thoughts?”

“Oh, absolutely not. Quite the opposite in fact.”

“So, is it safe to say that there was a very real chance that Harry had difficulty casting the charm that night?”

“More than a chance; he told me that it took him three tries to get it. Huge delay when you’re within Kissing distance of Dementors, as I understand Dudley here was.” Dudley tensed up, remembering the feeling of those cold, clammy hands grasping at his wrists, feeling their putrid breath on his face. If Harry had been even a few seconds slower…

“Now, how many were there at the lake the night he saved you?”

“Oh, easily a hundred. Like I said earlier, they had sent the whole guard after me.”

“How many had gone after him and Dudley?”

“Just two as far as I am aware.”

“That’s so strange… I wonder what the difference was.” Remus pretended to think hard about this; Dudley knew he was pretending because even he could see the point they were making. His father, however, took the opportunity to speak up again.

“Obviously the boy wasn’t that concerned with saving Dudley. Probably would have been relieved if he _happened_ to be too late. Always been jealous of our boy--”

“Dad, shut up.” He heard his father’s mouth snap shut, eyes wide as he stared at him. “He’s not even here anymore and you’re still trying to tear him down. Just stop it. They’re right.”

_“DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU’RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!”_

“‘Expecto Patronum.’ That was the spell, right?” Remus and Sirius, both staring at him grimly, nodded. “The thing was on top of me. If he hadn’t been able to cast it when he did, it would have gotten me, I’m positive. The whole time he was trying to help me. He shouted at me to keep my mouth closed. ‘Cos that's how they suck your soul out, right?" The two men nodded again. Feeling bolstered, he pressed on. "It wasn't that he didn't _want_ to help me. It's that he _couldn't_. Because of _us_. And I almost died because of it.” He squared his jaw and looked his mother in the eye. “If I had been magic, like Harry, would you have done to me what you did to him?”

“No, Popkin--”

“We would never--”

“But that was why you did it to him, didn’t you? Because he was magic? You said you were trying to squash it out of him, make him normal. So if I was magic too, would you have still tried?” This seemed to bring both his parents up short. His father was gaping at him like a fish.

“Oh, Dudders, o-of course we wouldn’t do that to you. We love you.”

“So, then it’s just Harry, then? You don’t love him, so it’s okay to work him like a servant? You didn’t want him, so it’s fine to starve him for days or weeks on end? To beat him bloody for things he doesn’t realize he’s doing? Mum, you once hit him so hard he had a fucking _seizure_.”

“Dudley, there are things about this you don’t understand--”

“What’s to understand, Mum? We _abused_ him.” He felt the hot, stinging sensation of tears springing to his eyes; he bit down on the impulse as savagely as he could. _I can’t show them weakness. Not right now._

“Abuse?” His father’s face had darkened to a dangerous shade of red. “Hardly! Ruddy bastard needed a strong hand. He deserved everything he was given and more! Putting a target on _my_ family’s back just because he wanted to get himself blown up like his useless parents--”

There was a blur of movement next to him, and suddenly Sirius was holding Remus in a full Nelson, pulling back on him with what Dudley could tell was an immense amount of effort.

“Let me go!”

“Remus, you need to calm down and let me handle this.”

“S’fine for _you_ to rip his fuckin’ hands off, but _I_ do it and it’s a problem?”

“ _You_ do it and you get someone from Control and Regulation with a literal fucking axe to grind for you. _I_ can at least argue my way out of prison.”

“Yeah? How’d that work out for ya the first time?”

“Fucking _Morgana_ , you are _such_ an arsehole when you get violent -- Oi! ” Remus had managed to pull an arm loose and was fighting to free the other. “Remus I swear I will drop you if you don’t stop it right now!” Remus paused, glaring at him fiercely; Sirius matched him. “There is a puddle of sick right there and I am not above throwing you into it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Famous last words, love.” A pair of cracks sounded outside, followed by the sound of the door opening. The woman Dudley had seen at the station the other day -- now sporting wavy, chin-length black hair instead of a bubblegum pink pixie cut -- strode into the kitchen, camera in hand.

“Oh good, you haven’t murdered anyone.”

“Yet,” Sirius growled. Remus, upon hearing her voice, had stopped fighting him.

“Dora? What are you doing here? You were supposed to be with Harry.”

“Head injuries like that are a little beyond my abilities, honestly. I called Poppy and Molly over; they’re with him. And I brought Arthur with me as a ministry representative, since I can’t be the signatory on the paperwork if I’m part of the custody arrangement.” She brandished the camera. “We’ll need photo evidence to make it official, of course.” A tall red-haired man -- _Harry’s mate’s dad_ \-- walked into the room behind Dora, looking around tight-lipped at all the carnage. He pointed to the splatter on the wall.

“Whose blood is this?” Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but Dudley got there first.

“Harry’s. He’s also this bit over here.” The man -- Arthur-- nodded and took notes while Dora snapped pictures of both stains. Dudley could hear his father spluttering at the intrusion. No one paid him any heed. Additional pictures were snapped of the puddle of sick on the floor and his trainers, which Sirius cleaned up afterwards with a snap of his wand. Arthur asked Dudley a series of questions about what had happened, how long it had been going on, and if there was anything else he could tell or show him.

So Dudley did. He showed him the tiny room with the broken things, and the cupboard under the stairs that still had scratch-marks you could make out under the fresh paint if you ran your hand over it. Arthur asked him if there were any pictures of Harry in the house, and Dudley realized with a start that there were not. Not a single one. Finally, the man handed him the sheet he had taken notes on and asked if he could sign it.

“Why do you need me to sign?”

“It’s an affidavit; basically you are certifying that everything that you told me is true. Feel free to look over the notes and let me know if I’ve misrepresented anything, of course.” Dudley scanned the notes, and didn’t see anything amiss. Everything was just as he had said. He grabbed the pen his dad kept on the coffee table and signed and dated the bottom of the sheet. Arthur thanked him, tucking the sheet into his robe, and walked back into the kitchen, Dudley close on his heels. The red-haired man procured another sheet, this time shoving it under his parents’ noses.

“Sign this.” Arthur’s tone was positively frigid. His mother sneered at the form.

“What’s this?”

“Termination of Parental Rights. In short, we are relieving you of your custody of Harry James Potter, effective immediately.”

“And if I don’t sign?” Arthur knelt down in front of her, giving her a look that Dudley couldn’t quite see, but which made both of his parents shrink away from him in obvious fear.

“Let me be clear: I am not asking. You sign, or I will make it my personal mission to destroy your lives so completely and utterly that you will wish that these fine gentlemen behind me had killed you. At least that would have been quick and comparably painless.” His father puffed himself up.

“Are you threatening us?”

“Oh, no, I would never _threaten_ you, Mr. Dursley. This is a _promise_.”

His mother took the form with trembling hands.

“I need a pen.” Sirius tapped the discarded turner Harry had been using, which shrank down into a black fountain pen, handing it to her. She pressed the form against the wall and signed it. “Vernon can’t sign with his hand like that.” Arthur jabbed his wand at the injured hand; the wounds stitched closed. Sirius growled. Dudley watched his mother give his father a stern look that brooked no argument, staring him down until he signed his name to the form with a disgruntled expression. He shoved the form back into Arthur’s hand.

“There. Good riddance to bad rubbish.” Arthur stood, smiling in a way that wasn’t entirely benign. Dudley watched his father attempt to stand, grousing about needing to change, and being late for his meetings.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I think you have the wrong idea.” His father froze; his mother paled. “My wife would have me sleeping in the shed for a month if she knew I left without properly repaying you for your _hospitality_.” The unsettling smile on his face widened. “Remus, Sirius… out of curiosity, how are your Charms?”

“Both scored Outstandings on our NEWTS as I recall, didn’t we Sirius?”

“I dare say we did, Remus. What do you have in mind, Arthur?”

“Just a few things to make sure the message sinks in is all.” His eyes darted to Dudley. “Targeted, I should think. We don’t want Dudley here to be affected.” Sirius and Remus looked at one another for a long moment. Finally, Remus spoke.

“We have some thoughts.” He and Sirius nodded at each other and went upstairs without another word. Dora sighed.

“I don’t know if I need to supervise them or not. Knowing them, they’re not just putting Caterwauling Charms on the toilet.” Arthur simply shrugged; Dudley had no idea what a Caterwauling Charm did, but it sounded unpleasant. “It’s a shame I’m not that good with finicky charms like that. But…” She whipped out her wand, making a complicated little motion with it. “ _Piertotem locomotor!_ ”

Everything in the kitchen suddenly sprang to life. Dudley jumped back, startled.

“I gather you gentlemen are still going to be hesitant to attack an unarmed Muggle woman, but I’ve got no such qualms.” She walked over to where his parents were still cowering, grabbed his mother by the front of her blouse, and _threw_ her into the table, shouting “ _Oppugno!_ ” The table, in turn, jumped to catch her, turning her towards where a swarm of utensils began beating her about the head. Dudley was terrified for his mother, but forced it down. He could see everything was causing superficial damage at best. _So long as they don’t really try to hurt her… and besides, I can’t do anything about it. I don’t have magic_. His father got up with a shout and tried to help her, but was beaten back by an angry spatula. Instead, he turned on Dora, who seemed utterly unfazed.

“YOU PUT HER RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”

“Nah, don’t think I will.”

“YOU… YOU--!!” He made to charge at her, when suddenly Arthur pulled his wand.

“Oi, Dursley!” Dudley watched his father turn, eyes widening as he realised he was caught between two angry wizards. “Eat slugs!” A green jet of light shot out of Arthur’s wand, hitting him directly in the stomach. Dudley watched as his father staggered backwards, opened his mouth to shout back, and instead vomited a stream of slugs. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and realized that Sirius had come back into the kitchen, Remus at his side.

“Sorry you’ve got to see all this, kid. But these will be temporary, at least. And nothing we’re doing is going to hurt them permanently, I promise.” Remus nodded behind him. Dudley found himself feeling relieved. He had been worried they might _actually_ kill his parents, which he didn't really want to happen, even though he was very angry and disappointed with them both.

"Thanks. And, erm… sorry. About all of this. About them being, you know… the way they are. And me being the way I am."

"The way you _were_ ," Sirius corrected him gently, somehow making himself be heard over the racket behind them. "If you were still the same as them, you wouldn't have helped us these past couple of days. I owe you one." He glanced at Remus before adding, quietly, "You ever need a place to stay, let us know. We can put you up as long as you need." He was touched, honestly, but there was a significant problem with their offer that he could think of.

"Would Harry be okay with that?" Remus' expression softened with understanding. _Hang on, his eyes changed color… they're green?_

"We'd talk to him about it, but if I know him, he'll be fine with it."

Dudley took a look behind him, where his mother was currently getting boxed by a couple of spatulas while his father was spewing slugs all over the linoleum. Arthur was pouring a few mugs of tea while Dora sat on his mother's counter, nibbling on a bit of burnt bacon and swinging her legs while she calmly watched the results of their handiwork.

"Yeah, I might take you up on that at some point. Thanks."

The four of them stayed for about an hour, periodically tapping things with their wands and muttering darkly, or otherwise cheering on the animate kitchen appliances -- Sirius and Dora were scoring the toaster's performance as it launched burnt toast at his parents' heads ("Nice! Got him right in the nose! Ten points!" "It hit him with the flat side, though; easy shot. That's an eight at best." "An _eight?_ You're barking! You-- oi, _that_ was good one!" "Fuck yeah! Solid ten! Right in her eye!") For his part, he accepted the breakfast that Remus and Arthur had whipped up (bangers and mash, which was really bloody good, actually) and occasionally answered questions about himself, and about Harry, while trying to not pay too close attention to his parents. They weren't really hurting them, he told himself, just scaring them and being highly inconvenient. Dora had called in a favor to make it so that his dad's meeting was never on the schedule at all, she confided to him.

"We _could_ ruin him, but we're not going to. Today, at least." It was very strange, knowing he was the only reason these four people who could bend reality to their will weren't destroying his parents. Because they really, really wanted to.

Instead, they repaired the chairs that had shattered themselves against the walls, cleaned the blood stains, and by all appearances set everything back to rights. Dudley knew better. They made their way towards the door, but as his parents attempted to escape the kitchen behind them, a leather-clad arm shot out to block them.

"What could you people _possibly_ still want with us?" His father snapped. Sirius slid back into the doorway, standing toe to toe with him.

"Just a word of warning." Remus approached as well, remaining a step behind, ready to support if needed, his eyes shifting gold again. "I don't care who says otherwise --whether it's Albus Dumbledore, the Minister, or the Queen Herself -- I don't care what they tell you, what they offer you, what they _threaten_ you with. If you _ever_ come within fifty feet of my son again, _I will kill you_ , and they will never find what little will be left of you, do you understand me?"

His parents, both with faces the color of curdled milk, nodded. Sirius stepped away from the door and allowed them to pass--which they did, giving him as wide a berth as they were able to-- before turning to him.

"Sorry that turned into such a circus, kid." Sirius held a hand out for Dudley to shake; he grasped it firmly, meeting his eyes as he had always been taught since he was very young.

_"You can tell a great deal about a man from his handshake, Dudley."_

His father's handshake had always been overpowering, painfully tight, and he held on too long like he was trying to win a contest of wills. It had the effect of making him feel immensely uncomfortable. Sirius', by contrast, was… sturdy and confident, but barely longer than a brief clasp before he released him again. _His hands aren't clammy either._ He felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

"Well they did always tell me they were going to take me to see one some day, even if I don't think that was what they had in mind." He paused, considering his next words carefully. "Whatever you did around the house… is it permanent?" Sirius pursed his lips.

"Against my better judgement, no. Should wear off by this time next year. And before you ask, no, nothing directly harmful. Had to talk Remus down on a few particularly nasty ones, though." He turned, shooting Remus a scowl; Remus shot one back with a growl. _He actually growled… like a dog. Or rather… huh… are werewolves real?_

"Why do you ask?" Dudley blinked a bit stupidly at Remus, who was looking at him with a carefully neutral expression. He hadn't realized he had spoken the last bit aloud.

"Ahh, forget it Moony, you've been bloody obvious about it all morning. Dudley doesn't have a problem with it… right?" He thought about it for a moment, and considered what he knew.

"Well… it's not a full moon right now, right? So you're just like anyone else, 'cept you growl at people and your eyes go all wolfy when you're angry. Or does it not work like that for real?" Now it was Remus' turn to blink stupidly, before he let out a relieved laugh.

"You're alright, Dudley. And to answer your question, that is actually about how it works for real." He grinned at the two of them; the ex-con and the werewolf that his cousin was going to go live with from now on.

"Wicked."

In the weeks leading up to his return to school, Dudley noticed his parents behavior was strange, even erratic. He had expected their conversations to be tense, given that he had sided with the people attacking them -- regardless of his reasons why, he knew that probably hurt their feelings at the very least. He had not expected his parents to simply not speak at all. And both of them seemed incredibly jumpy. It took almost three weeks before he realized his mother was avoiding reflective surfaces, and his father was suddenly terrified of the dark and refused to walk into any room that wasn't fully lit. He was also nearly certain neither of them were sleeping well. Dudley ended up getting a ride to school with Piers, because he was honestly afraid his parents would wind up hallucinating something on the road and killing all of them. _Maybe I'll stay there for the hols this year… get some extra time in at the gym while everyone else is gone…_

But the one highlight had been a letter he received by owl the night before he went back to school.

_Dudley,_

_Got your letter. Summer's been really good, other than that first week. And adjusting to living in a house with not one, not two, but three parents who all actually give a damn about what you're doing. It's weird, but it's nice._

_I've been helping Sirius work on his motorcycle, which is pretty interesting. Remus --that's_ (he had several terms crossed out here that Dudley couldn't make out) _my other godfather -- has been teaching me Welsh, which is cool. Apparently our mums both spoke it with their gran when they were kids. I didn't even know your mum knew another language at all. I've been teaching Dora how to cook, since she's hopeless. She only lit the kitchen on fire once yesterday, which was pretty good for her. She was only trying to make tea, though, which was… impressive._

_I hope they didn't go too overboard with whatever it is they did to your parents. I told them to leave it alone, but it was already apparently done by the time I woke up. I know how they can get. I was okay by the way, just had two black eyes a couple days later which looked funny, but it went away pretty quick, with, well you know._

_I thought I was going mad when I saw you defending me to your parents, but Sirius tells me you did actually do that… so thanks. For that, and the food. And talking to Sirius. It helped._

_Anyway, Hedwig (the owl) likes bacon, so if you've got a bit of that to spare or a bit of your rashers, she's usually pretty happy. Worst case, I can send you owl treats to keep handy for her, if we're going to be writing and all. Just let me know._

_Talk to you soon,  
Harry_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welsh translation:
> 
> Beloved bishop... (literal; this is the Welsh version of "oh my God")
> 
> Love you.  
> Fuck off, you fat cunt. You're a pathetic little excuse for a man. (Literally, the first bit means "go scratch" but the intent of the term is "fuck off." It's just a very Welsh way to say it.)
> 
> I'm trying to get better with the Welsh stuff and use more colloquial bits where I can find it, since Translate is NOT OPTIMAL.
> 
> EDIT: I also wrote a companion piece for this chapter called "Drawing Flies" that is just me playing with some "What ifs"... so check it out if you're interested.


	9. thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look, everyone who writes goes through an angst-ridden poetry phase... I just apparently hit mine at 34."

**(On a water-stained, wrinkled sheet of parchment, left on the kitchen table of The Den.)**

_thirteen  
the first time i noticed you,  
watching your hands as you  
spoke, wrists twisting, fingers  
curling round the tapestries of  
your words as you wove an epic  
into existence, iterations of adventures  
both shared and imagined, becoming like you,  
more beautiful with each retelling._

_thirteen  
steps between your bed and mine  
and that first november you travelled them  
seven times to hide beneath my covers as if i  
was something that could keep you safe and i  
believed just for a moment that maybe  
i could be, in those moments between you  
pleading with me to let you stay the night and  
pretending you hadn’t in the morning._

_thirteen  
times i meant to tell you  
how much i loved you, how i wanted  
to trace the curve of your mouth with mine  
to shout to you all these things i’ve whispered  
at night, alone, in dark corners, into ears unpierced by  
that gold ring you got on a dare, into lips  
that didn’t taste like honey and sin, except  
you kissed me first._

_thirteen  
days spent wrapped in you, tangled  
in flannel sheets that first winter we were  
together, unraveling myriad ways we fit, nesting  
into one another as if we were formed  
from matching molds, as if you were made  
to fit beneath my arm, against my chest, filling in  
all the empty spaces as easily as coming home,  
as breathing, as loving you_

_thirteen  
weeks between  
the door slamming behind me as  
i left and when i thought  
i could come back and tell you all  
the answers to ‘where have you been’ and  
‘what are you hiding’ because it was  
never meant to break us, but  
somehow, god help us, it did_

_thirteen  
years since i last saw you, felt  
the way my name sounded as it tumbled  
from your lips, the way your dark hair  
fanned out over the pillow, since i came home to  
apologize to an empty flat and grieve over  
the dregs of the last bottle we’d shared before i  
threw it against the wall, and it shattered  
and so did i_

_thirteen  
words between us, half whispered in this  
darkened room with open doors, hands outstretched, grasping  
for one another across a threadbare mattress, across  
years of silence, of reaping love with hatred sown,  
with apologies that must suffice for all the ways we failed and  
failed to die, the suffering we’ve wrought with these  
bloodied hands we clasp between us, locked in prayer,  
not to the silent heavens, but to the dying embers of ‘us’._

_-rjl, 13/8/94_

**(On a piece of lined paper, set on top of the parchment.)**  
Remus -

Found this while I was going through the old photo albums, it was stuck in the back of one. Thought you might want it back, since it seems a bit personal and all. 

Sorry if it wasn't something you wanted read, I didn't realize what it was until after I'd already seen it. It's really good, though.

\- Harry

 **(On the same paper, surrounded in badly drawn hearts.)**  
Now that I know you're capable of writing poetry, I expect a sonnet by Thursday, Wolfie.  
Love, D

 **(Below this, in red ink.)**  
What do I need to bribe both of you with to pretend you never saw this?  
\- a very mortified wolf

 **(At the bottom of the page, tear-smudged, next to a large inky paw print.)**  
Too late, I've made copies. For posterity, you know.  
\- an apparently 'beautiful' old dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wish I was cool enough to figure out how to Photoshop this, so I could have kept the original font I wrote it in, but oh well. Poem is an original work. Haven't written any in about 16 years, so... that was an adventure. Remus' headspace is really easy for me to slip into for some reason. It's a curse.
> 
> I'll note I've got several chapters in the works for this story that I've been cycling through (mostly upbeat stuff after that heavy AF novella that was Chapter 8). With everything going on, my motivation has been a bit of a stingy asshole, and honestly some days I really only can garner the energy to listen to some music and not collapse in on myself like a dying star. I'm wearing pants most days, though, and that's been an accomplishment imo haha.
> 
> On second thought, I'm really not shocked at how easily I can get into Remus' headspace. The world is lonely AF right now, and where it's not lonely, it's terrifying.
> 
> Hope everyone's hanging in there. Stay safe.


	10. Then She Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Impromptu meeting of involuntary insomniacs -- dawn, sometime mid-November 1996.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rare Ginny POV appears.

When she was little, she used to get up to watch the sunrise, to see its rays paint the sky in rose gold hues, her tiny fingers stretched up to the sky as if she were painting too.

Ginny still rose before the sun, but now she reached out with ink-stained fingers towards a warmth she was still trying to remember how to feel.

She counted steps up to the owlery -- there were thirty-eight, in case anyone was wondering -- a letter to her mother clutched in her hand. 

_Yes, Mum, I’m alright, Mum, no I haven’t petrified any students, Mum, but I did kiss a bloke who realized immediately after that he was gay, so this term’s going really well I think._

She reached for the door handle, ready to push open the door and use one of the school owls to send her letter off in the hopes she’d get her mother to stop sending poor Errol every third day to check on her, when she heard a voice coming from inside the owlery. Seeing as it was approximately half-past-a-kneazle’s-arse in the morning and the sun was only just starting to peek up over the treeline -- on a Saturday, no less -- this was unusual to say the least. Especially because this person was singing (badly), and sounding a bit like they were stomping about like a drunk hippogriff. She peeked her head inside, curious -- and really, wasn’t that always her bloody problem?

It was Harry.

He was wearing that odd muggle contraption his godparents had sent him -- a disc-man she thought Ron had called it. It didn’t look much like a disc or a man, in her opinion, but then muggles always had weird names for things. Either way, it was covering his ears, and she could hear music coming from it, faintly -- he hadn’t noticed she was there yet. She could see the little cord attached swinging a bit as he danced with a broom, sweeping up owl pellets with bits of straw in his inkblot hair, some of it stuck under the headset. The sleeves of his dark grey jumper -- one her mum had knitted for him, she noted -- were rolled up to his elbows, revealing scars she hadn’t known he had. He was singing to Hedwig, who was perched on his arm, pausing to make little kissy noises at her; she clicked her beak, leaning into him as he nuzzled her feathers with a goofy grin. 

The rising sun chose that moment to break through the window, bathing him in a beautiful golden glow. He was _breathtaking_.

“I walk right... through the door... walk right through the door… Hey all right! If I get by... it’s mine! Mine all mine! Come on, Wiggy, here’s the solo!” He kicked out with his red trainers, grabbing the broom like a guitar and enthusiastically miming playing a solo on it. Hedwig bobbed on his left arm, not seeming particularly thrilled, but tolerating her person's antics with the long-suffering grace only a beloved familiar could manage, their eyes meeting from across the room.

_Yes, he is terribly ridiculous, isn't he? But that's rather why we love him, isn't it?_

Harry spun around, opened his mouth to wail out another verse, and caught sight of her instead, stopping dead in his tracks with a strangled squeak and nearly dropping the broom. He fumbled around with it rather magnificently before recovering it (barely) and setting it against the wall as Hedwig screeched and flapped away to one of the lower rafters to glare at him reproachfully from a safe, broom-less distance. Ginny wiggled her fingers in greeting, feeling a giant grin spread across her face as he yanked the headset off, ruffling his hair anxiously.

"Bloody -- ah, fuck -- I mean-- erm... _Ginny_! What, ah… what brings you to the owlery so early?" She brandished the envelope in her hand.

"Sending a letter, oddly enough. Not quite as fun as, erm…" She made a vague waving motion towards him with her hand. "Whatever... you were just doing."

"...Cleaning."

"I see." Despite his not-at-all-convincing tone, she did see, actually. The owlery was strangely neat and tidy in a still-slightly-messy way that showed it had been done by hand, and the owls all seemed perfectly content and comfortable. She had the distinct impression this was a regular occurrence for him. She walked over to one of the school owls, fastening the letter to its leg and choosing not to press the issue. Harry, still hovering awkwardly in the center of the room, deflated slightly, sighing and rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably.

"I come up here to visit with Hedwig when I can’t sleep… then I figure, while I'm here, I may as well take care of things." He shrugged, obviously self conscious. She regarded him seriously for a moment.

"Keeps the hands busy, does it?" He nodded. "Does the music help at all?" He grinned at her, a bit shyly.

"It does, actually.” He tilted his head, looking for all the world like a curious puppy with his fringe falling into his eyes. _He’s been letting it grow out a little… it’s starting to curl at the ends._ “What about you? Can’t imagine you had a pressing need to send a letter at five in the morning, but... I’m not going to judge or anything if you did, like.” She felt her grin fall off slightly as she debated whether or not to tell Harry the truth; the last time she’d bared her ink-stained soul, she’d been swallowed whole.

_If I can't trust Harry, then who can I trust?_

“I’ve always been an early riser, but… it’s hard to forget most nights, you know?” His eyes locked on hers, and for the first time, she realized, fully, that he _understood_. It was etched into his bones as surely as it was her own, more than just an outline on the theory of violation: he _knew_ , now, first-hand, what it felt like when Tom had sunk into her, pushing everything that was Ginny aside and drowning it, drowning _her_ in dark, black ink. What it felt like to wake up covered in feathers, covered in blood, stains and scratches on her hands from finger-painting messages into walls she didn’t remember. 

Mostly she remembered not remembering, thinking she was going mad.

Mostly she remembered shame.

“You’re stronger than me, you know.” 

“I'm not.”

“I mean it. I only lasted a few minutes. You fought him off for _months_. I don't -- I _couldn't_.” Green eyes boring into hers over his new glasses -- squarish frames, bolder than his old ones. They didn’t take over his face the way his old, cheap round ones had. She could see now, the way a little crease between his brows formed as he watched her, lips twisting slightly into a crooked half-grin, dry as dark toast.

It made him look so much older. The glasses, too, she supposed.

"Do you remember when I asked you what it felt like?" She nodded; how could she forget? "Well, now I wish I didn't know."

She didn't need to ask if he had felt like he was being hollowed out and filled with someone else's will. If it felt like he would never be clean again. She reached out to grab his hand, not caring if his fingers smudged the carefully inked reminders on her hand ( _never ever ever let anyone in again_ ). She concentrated on the way her fingers nested perfectly into his, the way his eyes traced lines in script across her face, taking in every detail.

He pulled his headset off his neck and offered it to her.

"D'you want a listen?" She nodded; his grin widened and warmed into a smile, one that reached his eyes for once, and he led her to the wall, seating himself on the floor beneath a big window, the same one she'd always come up and sit in to watch the sky change. She wondered, as she sat down beside him, their thighs pressed together, if he often sat there too.

He pulled out the disc-man, fiddled with something on the side --she could hear music coming from them much more clearly now-- and then hit a little button.

"They've got a lot of songs that are really fun to listen to, but they're better for when you're doing something, rather than just sitting and listening."

"Like 'cleaning'?" He snorted, rather adorably, she thought. His nose wrinkled a little, his lips pulling back properly over his teeth, smiling easily now.

"Something like that, yeah." He placed the headset between them, on both their shoulders. "Anyway, this song is good for just relaxing and listening to. It's got _layers_."

She didn't quite know what that meant, but nonetheless she listened. It started out soft and slow, with a spoken word poem muttered at the beginning, a guitar riffing in the foreground. The vocals began in earnest, and it occurred to her that maybe Harry wasn't singing as horridly off-key as she'd thought -- endearing as it was -- because the singer's vocals were imprecise, aiming for effect, for a feeling, rather than pure melody, and that was really just Harry in a nutshell, wasn’t it? And, also like Harry, the song was incredibly complex -- just when you thought you figured out where it was going, the tempo and tone seemed to change. There was also the small matter of --

“Harry, is this song about religion or sex?” She watched him out of the corner of her eye, seeing a small blush rising to his cheeks, warm like the sun.

“Well… erm… it could probably go either way?”

“ _Three ways_ , by the sound of it.” He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall.

“I walked right into that one, I did.” She smiled at him in a bemused sort of way, and he frowned slightly. “What?”

“You really sound like Remus.”

“What? _Nooo_. He’s so bloody _Welsh_. I’m only--”

“Living in Wales now? Spent the whole summer there, with a man who is, as you just said, ‘so bloody Welsh’? _Learning_ the Welsh language? I mean, it’s not as noticeable now that you’ve been at school a few months, but it was _really_ obvious on the train, you know.” He ran his hands down his face, clearly embarrassed.

“Was it that bad?”

“Only because we know you so well… your whole cadence changed; you were sort of almost sing-song, yeah? And you normally have a bit of a posh accent, honestly, but all of a sudden you were drawing your vowels out a bit more, and dropping your D’s and whatnot at the end of words… that sort of thing.” He rolled his eyes, still clearly flustered as he pretended offense.

“Oh no, _not the D_.” She snorted violently.

“What is it with boys and making everything about their bloody cocks?”

“Wait, wha-- _oh_. No no no, I didn’t mean--”

“Too late now, Potter! Look at you, having innocent girls listen to dirty songs and talking about your bits. What’s a young lady to think, eh?”

“Ahh, cachiad…”

“Harry, you’re even _swearing_ in Welsh now, you’re done for, love.” He looked at her rather pitifully. “In all seriousness, though, Harry, you’ve picked up _a lot_ of his vocal tics.”

“...Have I?” She nodded at him, trying desperately not to laugh at his kicked-puppy expression. He slumped down, groaning. "That's what I get for taking language lessons from him all summer. Apparently picked up _all_ the language, I did, not just Welsh."

"Speaking of… what are some words you've learned? I'm curious."

"Oh, erm…" He paused, thinking for a moment, and then pointed at her. "Merch." She had never heard him roll an R before, but she was _quite_ convinced she wanted to hear more of it.

"Girl?" He nodded, then pointed to himself.

"Bachgen."

"Boy." Correct again; he nodded, then pointed up at Hedwig.

"Dylluan."

"Owl. What are we sitting on?"

"Y llawr. You ready for some whole phrases?" She nodded. "Dw i'n mwynhau gwrando ar gerddoriaeth." She frowned at him.

"Right, I haven't the foggiest on that one."

"Means 'I enjoy listening to music.' Which I do." He tilted his head slightly as he looked at her for a moment, something flickering in his expression that she couldn't identify. "Rwyt ti'n hardd."

"What's that one mean?" He grinned at her.

"Tell you what, if you can guess that one yourself, I'll take a penalty."

"Oh? What's the penalty then?" He shrugged, seeming rather confident.

"Your call." _Oh, Potter, never give a Weasley carte blanche, you know better._ She grinned back.

"You're on, then. Anyway, let's go back to single words, I think the phrases were a little much." He chewed his lip a bit, hesitating, and then reached out and gently touched a lock of her hair. The gesture wasn't that intimate on its head, but something about the way he was looking at her as he did it had her fighting down a blush.

"Goch."

"Hair?" He shook his head, then twisted one of his own locks between his fingers.

"Du," He released his fringe and touched her hair again. "Goch."

"I, erm..." She was rapidly losing the battle with her damnably pale complexion, she could _feel_ it. _Is he comparing length or color? Oh Morgana, who gives a shit, I feel like I'm going to burst into flames. Just melt right through the stone, like lava._ His hand came up to brush her cheek, thumb tracing along the place where she could feel the blush blooming like poppy fields across her face.

"Goch."

"...Red, then, I suppose?" She was shocked at how steady her voice sounded when it felt like her heart was about to leap out of her throat, her pulse hammering in her ears.

"You are, yes." His mouth twisted in a way that told her he was trying not to laugh; his eyes gave him away. _Thanks, Harry, rub it in a little harder._

_Or, you know, lower. I'm not picky._

Determined to regain the upper hand, she leaned into his touch, meeting his eyes directly, their faces inches away, watching the way the dawning light caught his eyes, lighting them up like sea glass in summer. _Fresh pickled toads, I ask you. What was Fred thinking?_

She was reasonably certain he had an idea of the reaction he was getting out of her by this point; a blind person could see he was flirting with her. And if she were like the other girls around the school, she'd sigh and swoon and wait for him to kiss her, maybe write about it in her diary later, writing their initials together in little cartoon hearts across the pages. But Ginny Weasley was not like the other girls, and whatever small, bubbly joy she might have taken from simply letting him make the first move had been bled out of her years before, staining the flagstone and snakeskin in some forgotten hole far below the castle. She no longer scratched her hopes and dreams across parchment pages, didn't tuck her ink-stained soul into pagebound corners, hidden under beds and pillows, never to see the light of day. She considered her promise to herself, written across her hands ( _never ever again_ ) and then she _re_ considered it, because yes -- Tom had killed the child she once was, but from those fragile bones, she was building someone stronger.

Ginny Weasley rose before the sun.

"You're beautiful." Harry blinked at her, looking totally at home on the floor of the owlery, covered in bits of straw and down. "That's what it means, right? Or am I misreading this entirely, and you've simply developed a sudden penchant for intense eye contact and petting people's faces while you're talking to them? Your hands are deceptively soft, by the way, I hadn't actually expected that." He huffed out a soft, confused laugh, but didn't pull away.

"Thank you?"

"It's a compliment, trust me." She raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. "So? Do I win or no?"

"How did you even guess that?"

"Context clues." 

"Alright, fair's fair. What's the penalty, then?"

"Well, if I was most girls, I'd probably ask you to take me to Hogsmeade and chat me up at Madam Puddifoots or something else equally as trite."

"It's fortunate for me, then, that you're not most girls."

"No. No I am not." She straightened, pulling away from him slightly, watching his eyebrows twitch almost imperceptibly, the only outward sign of his disappointment at the loss of contact. She watched him, and he waited patiently, his expression open and guileless.

_If I can't trust Harry, who can I trust?_

"You got a load of different albums from home, yeah?" Surprise flickered across his face.

"I did, yes."

"Have you listened to them all?"

"I haven't even scratched the surface, honestly."

"Well... maybe we can work through your collection together." She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Lay back and listen to the songs that you need to lay back and listen to. Dance to the songs that need dancing. Maybe sing, if we're feeling particularly brave." He laughed a bit ruefully.

"Your brother would absolutely take the piss out of me if he heard me singing."

"Well, you're no Myron Wagtail, that's for sure, but you're certainly better than _he_ is, so... glass houses, and all that. Also, I'm not above throwing him over my shoulder and physically removing him from the room if need be." Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline; she had honestly expected trepidation from him, even jokingly. It's how Michael had reacted to her, after all. The look of interest and appraisal was... new. She rather liked it.

"Well. I'd like to see that."

"How's today looking for you?"

"No Quidditch today -- as you know -- and I've lessons in getting my arse handed to me six ways with Sirius and Remus after we have lunch. But for the next, oh... seven hours?" His grin turned inviting; Ginny hadn't thought he knew how to look like that. "I'm all yours, if you want me."

It was like standing on top of a safety rail, straddling the dividing line between solid ground and _falling_ , between not-trusting and trusting.

"It's a date, then."

\---------------------------------------------------

They walked down to the Great Hall together, chatting over breakfast; Harry, she quickly realized, knew who had contributed what stack of CD's in his trunk -- which she learned is what the little shiny records were called. Dora and Sirius shared a taste in pop-punk and metal music, erring on the side of whatever was loudest and fastest. The song they had listened to in the Owlery was by one of Dora's contributions, a popular muggle band called Jane's Addiction. But where Sirius and Dora tended towards the mainstream, much of Remus' tastes seemed to largely go the opposite direction. He had a huge collection of underground punk, progressive, and alternative rock music that, at least at home, apparently dwarfed his partners'. When pressed, Remus had apparently told him he'd provided a "curated list of favorites" that he thought Harry might enjoy.

"Most of what he gave me is from the late 80's and later," he explained. "He reckoned I might find most of his older stuff a little camp. But he's lent me his copy of Quadrophenia and Ginny, I swear to Merlin, it's a bloody religious experience. It will _change_ you, like, as a person."

It was fascinating watching him come alive talking about the music his newfound family had shared with him over the summer, the way his eyes glowed when he showed her his mother's old guitar -- a weathered, bright blue monstrosity with white flowers hand-painted on the front -- the excited way he leapt onto the bed after popping a CD into the stereo system. She discovered that Remus and Sirius would sing The Who's "The Punk and The Godfather" with each other at home, and that they had a running joke about who was who. That if given proper social lubrication, Remus and Dora would try to sing along to R.E.M's "The End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" and usually fail hilariously, due to aforementioned lubrication. That Remus was convinced that Pearl Jam's album "Ten" was the soundtrack for his life in the 80's (and Ginny suddenly found herself feeling incredibly sorry for Remus, now that she'd heard it). That Dora and Sirius had broken the coffee table while flailing around to Hole's "Violet" ("Remus' face when he came in and saw the mess was _priceless_.") That Sirius would play Mother Love Bone's "Stargazer" for Dora when he was trying to be smooth. But as the last album was winding down, sometime during "Crown of Thorns", she finally gave into the impulse she'd been fighting all morning, to close the distance between them across the duvet and capture his lips with her own.

As well as he understood her, it really shouldn't have surprised her that he met her halfway.

And if his hair was a little messier than normal when he went to meet Remus and Sirius for lunch, well... at least they'd have something worthwhile to rib him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another music-heavy chapter, sorry (kinda?) Also awkward flirting though, so there's that.
> 
> There is going to be a lot of music in this entire series; Remus and Sirius had a history of bonding over it growing up (as did Lily!), and Remus used it as a coping mechanism during The Bad Time. It therefore has a very strong presence in their household. Harry kind of latches onto it like a much-needed lifeline, and it will continue to play an active role in his development as I go hurtling farther and farther from canon, middle fingers firmly raised.
> 
> In regards to Harry's changing accent and vocal tics over the course of basically a single month... yes, that is very possible. I used to visit my father in Long Island for a month in the summers, and trust me -- if you spend all of your time with someone who speaks a certain way, it's very easy to pick up. Same thing with speech habits. I'd imagine that learning language from Remus and spending so much additional time with him would only make that worse.
> 
> The somewhat reflexive use of the word "like" is something I understand is very common with people in Wales. I've been trying to study accents and vocal tics from the area that Remus is specifically from (south Wales) in order to make it more realistic, but my findings have been relatively limited.
> 
> Welsh:  
> Cachiad = shit
> 
> Everything else is already either translated or obvious.
> 
> Albums mentioned:
> 
> Jane's Addiction - Ritual de lo Habitual... Harry is singing "Been Caught Stealing", and he listens to "Three Days" with Ginny, which is hands down one of their absolute best songs, and despite the incredibly creepy backstory is a masterpiece. I will fight anyone on that. The chapter title is also from this album.
> 
> The Who - Quadrophenia... very literally one of the greatest rock albums in existence. Requires no other explanation.
> 
> R.E.M - Document (R.E.M. No. 5)... most of the songs people know are on this album, Green, and Out of Time. I actually hadn't realized this song is older than me when I went looking it up. Bit of a surprise!
> 
> Pearl Jam - Ten... This album pops up in my fics frequently because the vibe literally is "1980's Remus, the musical" and because "Black" will flat out make Remus ugly cry in the shower (I'm not projecting, you're projecting.)
> 
> Hole - Live Through This... I don't care what people say about Courtney, this album slaps. "Violet" especially slaps. This is a Dora contribution, but one that Sirius would absolutely fall in love with because they're a little bit the same person (Remus has a whole ass type apparently.)
> 
> Mother Love Bone - Apple... if you weren't already aware, the lead singer OD'ing shortly before the release of their first album ended up leading to the creation of Temple of the Dog and Pearl Jam. Andrew Wood has a very Axl Rose kind of vibe to me. This band (along with Mudhoney) came out of Green River and Malfunkshun, two bands which are considered to be the progenitors of the "grunge" era.


	11. Intermission: Author Check In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **THIS FIC IS NOT BEING ABANDONED.** See below for details.

Hey all! Just wanted to give a heads up about where I'm at with this fic, since it's been a while since I last updated, and I think there's people waiting? (Which boggles my mind, but like... I see you.)

There's been some changes and some speedbumps I've hit this past year, not all of which are bad. This series is my baby, and I'm absolutely going to see it through to the end! Just... not in a way that means this fic is getting anything updated on it anytime soon. And I'm sorry about that, if you've absolutely been enjoying this fic in particular and want to see more! I just realized I was doing things a bit out of order, and it wasn't sustainable in the long term. So, here's what you can expect from me:

1) Most of my time and effort is going to be focused on the prequel to this fic, Louder Than Love. Once that is completed (or near completion) I will most likely be moving back to this fic (No Code), which will cover all of Harry's 6th year (originally it was a lot more open-ended than that, and it was just gonna like... go indefinitely. You can see where my problem was haha.) However, I don't have a clear idea on the number of chapters or any kind of update schedule, because...

2) I have found myself in a mod position on the Harry Potter Fanfic Club on Discord, and am also highly involved in their sister server, the HP Fanfic Writers' Guild. That is taking a good amount of time and spoons in addition to me working full time and trying to make any amount of time for my family, HOWEVER it is also helping me focus a lot more on honing my craft and actually getting things moving with my plot. Also, it's great fun, and if you'd like to come hang out with me, you absolutely should. We have cookies (we do not in fact have cookies, but we have Hufflepuffs, and that's kinda close.) So you'll probably be seeing a bit of a stark difference in the way my older chapters/fics are written and the way my newer ones are, because holy shit I actually have been using Grammarly and having people look over my work before I post it (why yes, I was just yeeting my work out into the void unedited in the hopes it passed muster. I like to live dangerously.) I've at least noticed a massive improvement, and I'm pretty proud of that. Hopefully you all get to reap the bennies of my labor here sooner rather than later. I may also be ninja-editing some things in earlier chapters to make things more consistent in terms of details and.. well... style.

3) I do actually have things mapped out now, and pretty much have a fic for every book, so here's what's on the horizon, in chronological order:

Rearviewmirror (under construction) - covers GoF, largely from Remus' POV. Canon-adjacent, does not concern itself with goings-on at Hogwarts except as conversation points.

Louder Than Love (WIP focus) - covers OoTP, canon-divergent, does not concern itself with goings-on at Hogwarts except as conversation points, multiple POV.

No Code (WIP) - covers HBP, canon-divergent, splits time between events in and out of Hogwarts, even more multiple POV (Harry and Ginny added.)

Live Through This (under construction) - covers DH, canon-divergent, concerns itself with the general war effort rather than specifically Harry's hunt, with some views into goings-on at Hogwarts, multiple POV.

4) I've fallen behind in my Welsh practice and I gotta get back on that horse, stat.

Anyway, TL;DR: THIS FIC IS NOT ABANDONED but I do have a metric fuckton of work to do before I can update it again, and that was my bad for posting the initial chapters carelessly (ADHD manic-posting, whoops). I just wanted to let you all know so you're not like... thinking that I'm leaving a WIP dangling out in the wind. If you've been sticking with me so far, bless you for your patience and support. I appreciate TF outta you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to come join the happy chaos of the Harry Potter Fanfic Club discord, here's the link:  
> https://discord.com/invite/harrypotterfanficclub
> 
> If you maybe don't want to be a chaos gremlin with me (valid) but would like to join a server of fanfic writers that are all like... helping each other get good and keeping each other motivated:  
> https://discord.gg/KT5VGk2A
> 
> Otherwise I'll hopefully have at least one beefy boi chapter ready for LTL by the end of this month! See you all soon! <3
> 
> Also! I may be deleting this chapter once I get moving on this fic again, just as a heads up. But that'll be a while yet.


End file.
